Fumbling Toward Ecstasy
by Engage Fiction
Summary: When Brynne Larence moved into her new apartment, she moved into a whole new life as a government agent. Her first mission takes her back in time to Titanic. Chapter 26: The End?
1. You Get What You Pay For And More

Chapter 1

Brynne Larence turned off the lamp in the living room of her new apartment and walked toward her bedroom. The 27-year-old had moved to Washington, D.C. nearly a week ago to take a new job with an architecture firm. She still had a sizeable number of boxes to unpack, but she'd already been unpacking non-stop for nearly two days. It was 11:00 p.m. now, and she was dead tired.

Brynne's orange cat, Moocher, trotted in front of her into the bedroom. Once they were both inside, Brynne closed the door. She removed the clip that had been holding her long, dark hair and picked up a brush. She began to rake the brush over her hair, but stopped mid-motion and leaned in closer to the mirror. What was that on her neck? She leaned in as closely as she could and studied her reflection. A prominent black spot that she'd never noticed before marred the side of neck. What _was_ that? She reached up and rubbed it with her hand. To her surprise, it smeared. She looked at her finger and found some of the black mess on finger. Was that ink? How did that get there?

Brynne pushed the questions aside. She was too tired to contemplate mysterious ink marks. She looked away from the mirror and turned to her bed. Moocher was lounging innocently on top of the bedspread.

"Come on, Moocher," Brynne said sternly. "Move it." She gently shooed the cat off the bed. It hopped off and landed lightly on the carpet below. Brynne pulled the covers back and fell into bed. She slid under the covers. "Goodnight, Moocher."

Moocher sauntered over to the closet door, which was cracked open a bit, and meowed.

"Come on, Moocher," Brynne pleaded. "It's late. I'm tired."

The cat meowed again, this time louder and longer than before.

Brynne was quickly losing patience with her pet. "Mooch, give it a rest, already."

Moocher gave one more small meow before nudging the closet door open with his head and walking in. A few seconds later, a sea of bright, white light invaded the room.

Brynne opened her eyes, sat up, and squinted at the light emanating from her closet. "Moocher?"

Moocher came bounding out of the closet and hopped onto the bed, into his owner's lap. Brynne looked at the blinding light again. Was this a dream? Had she fallen asleep so quickly without realizing it? Was this a hallucination? She placed Moocher beside her on the bed and pulled the covers away from her body. She brought her bare feet to the floor and stood. Cautiously, she approached the phenomenon in her closet but stopped at the entrance. Staring into the light, she realized that it wasn't as sharp now that she was so close to it. It was like the light that emanates from a television screen in a dark room: not bright but … unique.

Brynne took another step toward the light. It was actually quite beautiful. She boldly brought her hand up to the light. She took one more step and, with her curiosity building, placed her hand into the light. It disappeared.

xxx

Lance Roberts took another bite of his candy bar. This would be the last time he had one of those for dinner. He only had one more bite left, and his stomach was still rumbling with hunger. He popped the last piece of the bar into his mouth and dropped the wrapper into the small trashcan beside his desk. He hadn't spent four years at MIT just so he could sit in front of a computer screen and eat candy bars for dinner every night.

He looked at the computer monitor again, looking over the grid that filled the entire screen. Something wasn't right. One of the squares on the grid was flashing excitedly.

"Dr. Duvall," Lance began, "do we have any links active at the moment?"

Payton Duvall, the head of the Central Office of Scientific Intelligence, or COSI, walked over to the small monitoring station and looked over Lance's shoulder at monitor as Lance pointed to the blinking red box on the blue screen. A trouble expression formed on Payton's face.

xxx

Brynne quickly removed her hand from the light and examined it. Everything seemed okay. It didn't hurt, and it looked to be the same as it was before. Gaining more confidence, Brynne stuck her hand back into the light, this time pushing it deeper so that more of her arm disappeared. She pulled it back and examined it again. This was absolutely amazing.

xxx

Payton's blue eyes studied the screen. "Pull it up," Payton directed Lance. "Which link is that?"

Lance's fingers flew over the keyboard. The image on the monitor changed from boxes on a blue screen to white words on a black screen. "It's the northeast link," he said. "Here in the District."

"The Rockwell apartment complex," Payton said.

"Right," Lance confirmed. "Apartment 5-G."

"We've got guys in that building," Payton said. "Get somebody to that apartment now. Find out what's going on."

xxx

Brynne closed the closet door and leaned her back against it. She looked around the room, which was once again dark. Moocher let out a small meow.

"What the hell was that?" Brynne asked. She looked down at her cat. "I think we're in trouble, Mooch." She turned back to the closet door and opened it. To her surprise, the light was completely gone. She stepped inside and looked around. It was a normal closet again. Hangers, clothes, shoes. She began to take another step.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Brynne."

Brynne bolted from the closet and found two men in trench coats standing in her bedroom doorway. "Who are you?" she asked, panicked.

The younger of the two men approached the closet and Brynne backed away, mortified. The man was holding some kind of device that she'd never seen before, and she was afraid that it might be some kind of weapon. But he pointed it at the open closet, not her.

"It's definitely active," the younger man said.

"Who are you?" Brynne asked, some of that boldness from earlier returning. "What are you doing in my apartment?"

The older man took a few steps toward Brynne, but she quickly backed away from him, so he stopped where he stood. "My name is Steven Bell," he said. This is my partner, Ian Packard. We're both special agents."

Brynne looked back and forth between them. "Agents? Are you from the FBI?"

Bell shook his head. "No," he replied. "But we are from a government agency."

"Listen, I just moved into this apartment about a week ago. I just – well, my cat actually. He kind of discovered this … " She gestures to the closet. " … this whatever-it-is tonight," Brynne explained. "I don't know anything about it. I swear."

"No, no, Brynne. You're not in any kind of trouble," Bell insisted.

Though he had used her name before, this was the first time that Brynne picked up on it. "How did you know my name?"

"In good time," Bell assured her. "Right now, we'd like you to come with us back to headquarters so we can explain some things. We know this is probably all a bit confusing and overwhelming to you."

Brynne laughed and shook her head. They had to be kidding. Go back to headquarters with them? "No," she refused. "Huh-uh. No way. I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't even know you. How do I know you're even with a real agency? You could be two sick wierdos for all I know."

"I assure you, we are with a legitimate agency," Bell said. He understood her apprehension. If he were in her position, he'd probably feel the same way.

"Well, do you have a card or something?" Brynne requested. "Some kind of proof?"

Bell reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it over to Brynne, who promptly examined it.

"COSI … " she read from the card. "Is that your agency?"

Bell nodded. "Yes."

Brynne looked at Bell again. She handed the card back to him. "Anyone can have cards made," she said skeptically.

"I know," Bell said. He looked at the card and then back at Brynne. "Keep it."

Brynne withdrew her hand and the card. "What does it stand for?" she asked.

"Central Office of Scientific Intelligence," Bell answered.

"How come I've never heard of it?" Brynne inquired.

"We're very secretive," Bell replied.

Brynne raised an eyebrow. "So are the FBI and CIA, but I've heard of them."

Bell shifted uncomfortably and looked at Packard before speaking. "COSI is different. We're a scientific agency."

Packard left the closet and stood beside Bell. Brynne looked at them. She was still a little uneasy about this whole situation, but neither of them had said anything that wasn't totally unbelievable. "And you want me to go with you?" she asked.

"We'd like you to, yes," Bell said with a nod.

"Why?" Brynne asked.

"We'd like to question you." Bell said.

"Look, I already told you – I don't know anything about this," Brynne said desperately. "My cat wondered in a—"

"Your cat went into the light?" Packard asked. It was only the second time he'd spoken since he'd walked in. "When?"

"Don't worry, he came back out," Brynne said dismissively.

"He went in?" Bell asked, alarm rising in his voice.

"Yeah," Brynne replied. "What's the big deal?"

"You really need to come with us," Bell urged with renewed fervor.

"I'm not going anywhere," Brynne said with finality. Before, she'd actually considered going with him. Now, they seemed a little too eager, and it didn't sit well with Brynne. "I've already listened, and this is way too weird for me."

"We won't force you to come with us," Bell said.

Brynne rolled her eyes. "Well, that's reassuring."

But Bell wasn't giving up just yet. "Know this, though – if you do come with us, you'll find out what this thing is and what it's for," he said, pointing to her closet. "If you don't come with us, you'll never know."

Brynne and Bell looked at each other. It was a tempting offer, and curiosity is a powerful driving force.

"Alright," Brynne said. "Give me a few minutes."

Bell looked at Packard. Both of the men looked relieved. "Fine," Bell said.

Brynne looked at Bell, then Packard, then Bell again. Were they just planning to stand there and watch while she changed? "Do you mind?" she said, annoyed. "I'm not in the habit of getting dressed in front of total strangers.

Bell and Packard politely left the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Bell's eyes wandered over to a small mountain of boxes in Brynne's living room, and his body followed. He looked down at the top box, which was open. A large book was sitting on top. He reached in and picked it up. It was a thick, coffee table book with the Titanic on the cover.

"How did you know my name?"

Bell placed the book back in the box and turned to the bedroom. Brynne was standing in the doorway, fully dressed, her arms crossed over her chest in a no-nonsense manner.

Bell began to speak, but Brynne talked over him. "And how did you know where I lived?" she asked. "How did you know all this?"

"We know a lot of things," Bell said simply.

"And how did you get in here?" Brynne pressed.

"We—"

"Did you break in?"

"No—"

"—Because my door was—"

"—Look, we didn't break in. I told you we were legitimate. We have a key." Bell held up the apartment key for her to see.

Brynne's brown eyes went wide. "How did you get that? The landlord told me no one else had one."

"That's because they don't know about this one," Bell said with a slightly mischievous smile. "Look, there's a lot that needs to be explained, and it will be … if you come with us."


	2. COSI

Chapter 2

Outside, the building could pass for just another average apartment complex. It didn't look any different than any of the other apartment buildings that might be found in D.C. Just inside the front doors, there was even a reception desk with a secretary on duty. However, as the old saying goes, looks can be deceiving.

Inside this quiet, unassuming apartment building, through the doors located just beyond the front desk, there was a bustling high-tech facility that one would never know existed if he wasn't told about it beforehand.

Now, Brynne sat in one of the offices in that building. More specifically, it was the office of COSI director Payton Duvall. It was a large office, but there was nothing fancy about it. Plenty of books, a laptop, a small television. There was nothing out of the ordinary there.

Payton walked around to the front of his desk. He was of average height with blonde hair and blue eyes. He wasn't the classic prettyboy type, but he was handsome in a quirky, unconventional sense of the word.

"Brynne – hi," he greeted simply. "My name is Payton Duvall. I run this whole show."

Brynne watched him lean casually against his desk. To her, he looked and sounded like a sly used car salesman type who was up to absolutely no good.

"Hi," Brynne said with measured caution.

Payton smiled, revealing a small gap between his two front teeth and exponentially adding to his slimy salesman appearance. "How are you?" he asked.

"Fine," Brynne replied, though she was quickly growing impatient with this whole situation. "Look, what's going on? What is that thing in my apartment? I want answers now, or I'm going to the police."

Payton shook his head and let out a small laugh. "You can't go to the police," he said.

"Why not?" Brynne asked.

"Because this is a secret organization," Payton explained. "That means going to the police would be bad."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Brynne said. "'This is a secret organization.' What kind of organization?"

Payton looked at Bell and Packard before resuming the conversation. "I'm sure Agents Bell and Packard told you that we aren't a criminal justice organization. Not completely, anyway."

Brynne nodded. "Yeah. They told me this was some kind of scientific agency."

This time, it was Payton who nodded. "That's right," he confirmed.

"What kind of science?" Brynne asked.

"Our research mainly deals with the space-time continuum and its properties. Quantum mechanics, Einstein's special theory of relativity. You know, nothing big," Payton explained effortlessly.

"Oh. Okay. Well, let's pretend that I don't know anything about any of that stuff, so why don't you just explain it to me?"

"We're time travelers," Payton declared.

Every thought that was currently making the rounds in Brynne's mind came to a screeching halt. "What?" she asked.

We're time travelers," Payton repeated. "We travel through time."

Brynne nodded. "You travel through time," she said skeptically.

"Yep." Payton watched her, waiting for more of a reaction, but Brynne only nodded again.

"Okay … " she said. "You know, I thought this was weird before, but now it's really starting to freak me out. So, I'm just going to leave now." She stood and so did Payton.

"Wait," he said. "I know this sounds a little strange, but it's true. What do you think that light in your closet was? A night light? Come on, Brynne – do you have a better explanation?"

Brynne looked at him, considering his words. She decided that he did have a point. "No, not at the moment," she admitted.

Payton stepped up to her. "That's because there isn't one."

Brynne looked at Bell and Packard. She was trying to analyze this situation as best she could, but it all seemed so bizarre. She briefly entertained the prospect that she might be dreaming. It was possible that she'd fallen asleep shortly after climbing into bed. She turned back to Payton, who spoke again.

"We're giving you the opportunity of a lifetime here, Brynne," he continued.

"How so?" Brynne asked, now more curious but still wary.

Payton looked at Bell and Packard. The pair of agents had no idea what Payton was about to pull out of his hat. He looked at Brynne again. "You are going back in time," he declared.

Bell, obviously alarmed, looked at Payton. "Uh, Payton – could I speak to you outside, please?" he requested.

"Sure," Payton obliged. He smiled widely at Brynne. "Excuse us." He left the room with Bell as Brynne returned to her seat.

Bell began to speak excitedly once he and Payton had cleared the office and the door had closed behind them. "I understand your wanting to explain everything to her, Payt, but we can't make her an agent," Bell insisted.

"Why not?" Payton asked innocently.

Bell felt like he would be stating the obvious with his answer, but he said it anyway. "Well, for starters, she hasn't had any training."

"No problem," Payton replied coolly. "We'll put her in a program."

"Payt—" Bell began to argue, but was promptly interrupted.

"What else can I do?" Payton asked. "Just let her go? We turn her loose, and we risk everything. You know I'm right on this."

Bell and Payton looked at each other, their eyes locked. "Who's to say she even wants to be an agent?" Bell proposed.

"Who's to say she doesn't?" Payton effortlessly countered.

The two men turned to the office window and watched Brynne. She was engaged in a lively conversation with Packard.

Bell turned to Payton. It looked as if he were going to have to give up on this one. "All I have to say is that I hope she's well prepared," Bell said.

Payton's gaze remained trained on Packard and Brynne through the window. "Don't worry," he assured. "We'll take our time, go slow. Time is on our side, remember? Look – I'll take full responsibility for anything that goes down. This'll be my little project. You just do what I tell you, and everything will be okay."

Bell was skeptical about this whole thing. It left him with an uneasy feeling, like a heavy rock was settling into the pit of his stomach. The only reassuring quality of this whole idea was that if anything went wrong, it was all going to be on Payton's shoulders. But even that did little to allay Bell's concerns.

Payton and Bell re-entered the office. "Now," Payton began, picking up the conversation as if it'd never been interrupted, "Where were we?"

"I believe the last thing you said was that I'm going back in time?" Brynne said. It came out as more of a question than a declarative statement because Brynne wasn't sure she'd correctly heard or completely understood Payton the first time around.

"Oh, right, right … " Payton said with a few accompanying nods. "Yes. Brynne, what would you think about joining us, becoming a real, honest-to-God agent?"

Brynne's mind momentarily raced. "I don't know," she admitted. She looked up at Bell, who had taken up position beside her chair. "I mean, what would I be doing?"

"Well, in a nutshell, you'd be doing what these guys do," Payton replied.

Brynne chuckled to herself. "So, I'd get to walk in on people in the middle of the night and scare them half to death?"

"That's not what we usually do," Bell clarified. "We're travel agents. Not in the traditional sense of the term, though, as you might imagine."

"What exactly do you do, then?" Brynne asked.

"We go back in time," Bell answered. It felt so odd to actually have to explain this to an outsider. His wife didn't even know that much about his job. "We do it to conduct research, mostly."

"Sorry to have to tell you gentlemen this and burst your bubble, but I know nothing about any of the science that you guys deal with. I'm an architect." Brynne didn't understand how she could possibly be of any use to COSI.

"I know that," Payton said. "But not all of our missions are solely scientific in nature. Yes, that's the main purpose of COSI, but we do have other departments within the agency with varying functions. Our criminal justice department assists the FBI, CIA, and Homeland Security. And our medical department, go figure, deals with medical research … and then there's our recovery department."

"Recovery?" Brynne said. "What's that?"

"Recovery is just what it sounds like," Payton confirmed. "It's recovery. We send an agent back to a certain period in time to retrieve a certain item that is temporally out of place. It can be a fairly easy department to work in. You get in, you get the goods, and you get out. Simple as that." Payton began to pace slowly in front of Brynne. He stopped as he began to speak again. "Say, for example, one of our agents leaves something behind by mistake. Or someone places it there intentionally—"

"What do you mean 'intentionally'?" Brynne asked. "You mean like sabotage?"

"Possibly … but more often than that, theft is the issue," Payton said.

"Yeah," Packard spoke up. "A thief might steal something and then find a place somewhere in the past to stash it."

Brynne was mortified. "You mean there are other people – criminals – out there with the kind of technology to do this?"

"Brynne, there's a whole underworld out there that's full of this stuff, and 99 of the world population knows nothing about it," Payton revealed. "So, while we started out as a purely scientific organization, it isn't so far-fetched to think that some day real soon, we'll branch out and have a whole agency, instead of just one department, devoted only to criminal justice."

Temporarily overwhelmed with this new knowledge, Brynne stood and took a few steps in no particular direction. "This is all so unreal … " she managed.

"Oh, it's real, alright," Payton said. "And you're about to become a part of it." He stepped over and stood behind Brynne. "If you're up to it."

Brynne turned to Payton, who raised a questioning brow. "Are you in?" he asked her.

Brynne looked to Bell and Packard, but neither of their faces revealed their opinions on whether she should take up the offer. She returned her gaze to Payton. This was going to be a big step, and once she agreed, there was probably no turning back. But there was no way she could resist. "I'm in."

A smile spread across Payton's face.

/\/\/

One might expect a cafeteria to be nearly deserted at two in the morning, and normally that expectation would be met. Normally. If Brynne had learned anything in the last couple of hours, it was that there was nothing normal at all about COSI. The employee cafeteria here was as busy at 2 a.m. as any given restaurant might be at 2 p.m. This was COSI; it never sleeps.

Brynne and Bell sat across from each other at one of the cafeteria's many tables. A cup of coffee sat in front of each on the table.

"So, tell me how this works," Brynne said.

"How what works?" Bell asked.

"This," Brynne said, sweeping her arm around the room. "This whole set up. How do you keep a whole government organization secret."

"It isn't as difficult as you might think," Bell said. "You probably noticed that this building is disguised to mimic an apartment building."

"Yes, I thought that was quite clever," Brynne praised.

"It comes in handy in case people wander in looking for a different place," Bell said. "People do live here, though. We have sleeping quarters. A gym. A cafeteria. This is what some people call home." He paused to take a sip of his coffee. "There's always something going on around here," he continued. "We've got direct computer connections to the navy, the army, the air force … you name it, we can get in touch with them with just a few clicks of a mouse button. We're connected with every major government organization in the world. We have a link in every major city in the world and some smaller cities, too."

"Links," Brynne said. "Explain those to me."

"Let me see," Bell said, thinking. "How do I explain this … okay. It's like this – picture time as water, like a pond. No – I guess it's more like an ocean. Like a very calm ocean. There's no movement whatsoever. Are you with me?" Brynne nodded to the affirmative. Bell resumed. "Okay. Now, let's say you created a disturbance in this calm body of water by dropping a stone in it. You'd get ripples, right?"

Brynne nodded again. "Right."

"Well, let's say that those individual ripples are individual moments in time. Do you see where I'm going?" Bell asked.

"I think so," Brynne said. "We create a distortion in time, and we fine tune it so that when we step through a link, we'll be at our destination."

"Exactly."

"That's fascinating. It all sounds like something out of a movie."

"Well, there's a lot more that goes on than that," Bell admitted. "That's just a basic, bare-bones example. And I still need to explain about time signatures."

"What's a time signature?"

"It's a frequency that allows a person to travel through time and remember everything," Bell explained. "See, if someone were to be taken from their time to another time and then go back to their own time, they wouldn't remember anything unless they were traveling inside their signature. If we overlooked the time signature element, our whole operation would be pointless."

"How do you know what your signature is?" Brynne inquired.

"Ever heard of trial and error?"

"That sounds like a fun prospect," Brynne deadpanned.

"Yeah. Loads."


	3. The Assignment

Chapter 3

In the month that followed Brynne's initial exposure to COSI, her life changed in more ways than she would have ever imagined. She left her new job as an architect before she even began, and she embarked on an accelerated COSI training program. Normally, the program took six months, at the least, to complete. Because of the upcoming mission that Payton had planned for Brynne, she was forced to pack six months of training into only a month.

Now, Brynne sat in Payton's office, waiting anxiously to hear what he had in store for her.

"Now that you've completed your training, it's time to give you an assignment," Payton said in his customary casual manner. He walked around and sat down in the chair behind his desk. "The Titanic," he said.

"The Titanic," Brynne repeated.

"Yes," Payton said. "Your objective is to gain access to the ship so that you can recover a document."

"What kind of document?" Brynne asked.

"It's a notebook that contains information about the sinking of the ship," Payton explained. "We had some agents on board making observations, and one of their notebooks contained information from the present about the disaster. If anyone from 1912 finds that information, it could pollute the timeline. Your job is to recover the document before it falls into the wrong hands. If anyone gets off the boat with that notebook, it could take us forever to track it."

"You think that there could be someone else on board with temporal technology?" Brynne asked.

"Possibly," Payton admitted. "But if you get in there and get the document right away, we won't have to worry about that."

"I understand."

"Now, I'm sending you to Belfast, Ireland , May 1911."

"1911?" Brynne said. "Wait, the Titanic –"

"I know. The objective date is April 1912, but in order to gain access to that notebook, you'll have to go in as a naval architect at Harland and Wolff," Payton explained. He grinned. "Remember when I first told you about becoming an agent, and you said you didn't know how you could be useful? When I found out you were an architect, it was like gold. We've needed someone to complete this mission for months now, but we didn't have anyone qualified enough."

"You've got a whole organization full of specialists, agents, and scientists," Brynne said. "You're telling me you couldn't find anyone to go back in time to get a little document?"

"No," Payton answered honestly. "This is one of those missions that you can't fake your way through. We needed someone with actual architectural skill. And fortunately, you're that person."

Brynne sighed. "I don't understand why we have to go through all this. Can't I just get in, get the notebook, and get out? That's what you said recover was like anyway, isn't it? Get in, get the goods, get out. What happened to that?"

"It doesn't work like that in this case, Brynne. The more people you're dealing with, the higher the risk you run of being spotted as out of place. If you get spotted in a place you're not supposed to be in, we're in trouble. It's just too risky. So, we have to remedy that by establishing that you're supposed to be there." Payton watched for Brynne's reaction. He knew that she hadn't contemplated being on a mission for a whole year. He probably should have mentioned the prospect to her earlier.

"We're talking about a whole year, Payton," Brynne said. "If I get sick, or something happens to me –"

"We'll know," Payton insisted. "If you don't step back out of the link after a few minutes, we'll know something went wrong. We'll send someone in for you. Don't worry; we've never lost an agent."

"Where's this notebook supposed to be?" Brynne asked.

"It's in the unoccupied millionaire's suite, inside one of the drawers in the second bedroom, B-56," Payton explained. "Once you find it, don't let it out of your sight." He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a DVD, and handed it Brynne.

"What's this?" Brynne asked.

"It's a video on Edwardian etiquette. Watch it. Live it." Next, he handed Brynne a folder. "These are your vitals. Don't lose those."

"When do I leave?"

"One week."

/\/\/

That one week passed like one day for Brynne. Before she knew it, she was standing outside her bedroom closet with Bell. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

"Well, this is it," Bell said. He looked at Brynne. "Are you scared?"

"A little," Brynne said. Then she reconsidered. "A lot."

"I remember my first time," Bell said. "It was three years ago."

"Only three years?" Brynne asked, surprised. "You could've fooled me. I would've guessed you were born into the agency."

Bell grinned and continued. "I was assigned to Nazi Germany."

Brynne looks down at her watch. It wasn't just any watch; it had a special mechanism which activated links. She pressed a button on the watch, and the link flashed into existence. Light flooded the closet and bedroom.

Bell began to speak again. "My assignment was to determine whether Hitler faked his death," he said.

Brynne looked at him curiously. "Did he?"

Bell grinned and said, "I'll let you know when you get back."

"You're going to make me wait a whole year?" Brynne asked, her question on the verge of classifying as a whine.

"Hey, it won't be that long for me," Bell reminded her. "You're supposed to be coming back out in a few minutes."

"I'll see you in a year, Bell," Brynne said.

"Call me Drew," Bell insisted. "And I'll see you in a few minutes."

Brynne turned to the link entrance. "Here goes." She looked down at her watch, counting down the seconds until her time signature arrived. "Five, four, three, two … " She stepped into the light and disappeared from sight.

/\/\/

Brynne pushed a door open and stepped out of a stuffy closet. "My God, it worked," she said. "I'm actually here."

She looked around the room. A bed, a table, a lamp. A few chairs. It was all very plain. And very old, she realized. She took a few more steps into the room, and something on the table caught her eye. She walked over to it. It was a folder. She picked it up and opened it. There was a letter inside.

_Brynne, if you're reading this, you have arrived safely to your destination. The adventure begins. If everything went as planned, it should be about five in the morning where you are. You're expected at Harland and Wolff at nine. Your wardrobe is packed in the five trunks across the room. Feel free to add to it at your leisure. This is the last you'll hear from me. Once again, good luck. Payton._

Brynne placed the letter back in the folder and dropped it on the table. She looked around the room, and her eyes landed on the trunks mentioned in the letter. She walked over to one of them and opened it. A neat stack of dresses lay inside, and Brynne realized that this would be her existence for the next year.

The knock on the door startled Brynne, and for a second, she panicked. She looked down at her 21st century clothing and at the door again. Maybe if she were quiet, her visitor would go away.

_Knock, knock, knock_

Then again, maybe they wouldn't.

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Who is it?" Brynne asked.

"It's me, ma'am," the person answered from the other side of the door. It was a woman with a thick Irish accent. "Your maid."

"Maid?" Brynne repeated.

"Ma'am?" the person asked.

"Uh, coming," Brynne promised. She paced a few times before finally walking over to the door. She moved to look out the peephole, but quickly realized that there wasn't one. It was one of those 21st century habits that she would soon have to get rid of. She unlocked the door and opened it. A young, short woman in a maid's uniform was standing in the hallway. A small white cap sat on top of her full head of curly brown hair.

The woman cheerily entered the room. "Top o'th'mornin', ma'am," she greeted. Brynne closed the door, and as soon as she did, the woman's accent changed dramatically. "How did you sleep?" she asked Brynne in an American accent.

"Just fine, thank—um, didn't-what happened to-you're not Irish?" Brynne asked, stumbling over her words.

"Irish?" the woman asked. "What ever gave you that idea?"

"Um, well, I mean you were just speaking with an accent a few seconds ago," Brynne pointed out.

"Oh, you mean this one?" the woman asked, bringing the accent back out again. "I've gotten pretty good at it, if I don't say so myself."

Brynne, completely confused, stared at the woman.

"What's the matter?" the woman asked, using her American accent again, which Brynne took to be her native tongue.

"Are you sure you've got the right room?" Brynne asked. The last thing she needed was to bring some crazy lady into a situation that was, for Brynne, already bizarre enough.

"Of course," the woman replied. "There's no one else on this mission besides us?"

Brynne's jaw fell. "Mission? How do you know about that?"

"I was assigned, same as you," the woman said. Her brows furrowed and she studied Brynne closely. "What's the matter with you? Didn't Payton tell you about me?"

"No, he didn't. Who are you?"

The woman, exasperated, sighed. "Not again … I'm Carmen Scott. Your contact. I'm supposed to help you get settled in, help you learn the ropes. I can't believe Payton forgot to mention me – again. This is the third time this has happened. I swear that man would forget his head if it weren't screwed on. You'd think that he'd remember to mention his own wife."

"Oh, so you're Payton's wife," Brynne said with a knowing nod. "It's so nice to finally meet you. He talks about you all the time."

Carmen chuckled. "You wouldn't think it, the way he forgets to tell my contacts about me. Come on. Let's get you dressed."


	4. Harland and Wolff

Chapter 4

Brynne stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her dark hair was pulled up into a neat bun. She wore a navy pinstripe dress suit topped off with a similarly colored hat on her head. She looked herself over and hardly recognized herself in the Edwardian garb. It wasn't really so bad as she'd expected. While she would probably never choose to wear an outfit like this, she couldn't deny that it was kind of snazzy. The corset would take some getting used to, though.

She looked to Carmen, who stood behind her and slightly to her right. "What do you think?" Brynne asked her.

Carmen smiled. "I think you've got a ship to build," she said.

xxx

Harland and Wolff didn't look like much on the outside, but Brynne knew better. What was going on inside the three-story building was much more important than external appearances.

Directly inside the front entrance was a reception desk, where a young man sat, engrossed in a newspaper.

Brynne strode confidently up to the desk. "Excuse me," she said to the man.

The receptionist looked up at her, breaking his gaze from the reading. He was a small-framed man with a pair of glasses on his nose. "Yes, ma'am?" he said. "How can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Mr. Thomas Andrews," Brynne informed him.

xxx

"Are you quite certain that this … woman is the right person for the job?" Jeremy Bratt posed the question to Thomas Andrews, Harland and Wolff's managing director and Jeremy's boss. That Andrews, who usually devoted great attention to detail, would bring someone (a woman no less) in on something as important as Titanic without ever even meeting her was a difficult pill for Jeremy to swallow. "We really have no idea at all about who she is," Jeremy continued. "After all, it was only by accident that her credentials found their way to the firm. Perhaps a trial period would be in order, sir?"

"No," Andrews insisted. "I believe she's more than qualified. She hasn't had much experience in the way of shipbuilding, but the work that she has done is exceptional. I think she can significantly add to our efforts to design Titanic's interior."

The knock on the door put their conversation on hold. "Come in," Andrews called out.

The door opened and a short man with glasses stepped into the office. It was the receptionist from downstairs. "Ms. Brynne Larence here to see you, sir," the little man said.

Brynne stepped past the receptionist and into plain view. Jeremy's jaw nearly dropped once he finally got a decent look at her. He hadn't expected her to be so beautiful. This was a career woman, and from his experience with them, they weren't of the attractive variety. Usually, they'd only turned to careers because they'd failed to find husbands to provide for them. Obviously, his previously held notions concerning career women would have to be altered.

The receptionist made a hasty exit, closing the door behind him. Andrews took Brynne's hand and gently shook it. "Ms. Larence," he greeted with a warm smile. "I'm Thomas Andrews, the managing director here. I'm so glad you could join us."

"Thank you for having me," Brynne replied. "It is incredible how things work their way out, isn't it? I was sending those plans and drawings to my sister in England; how they ended up here is a world of mystery to me." In all truth, Brynne knew exactly how they'd ended up at Harland and Wolff. Carmen had made sure this was where they would arrive.

"Fate has a way of seeing to it that things turn out the way they're supposed to, and I'm glad it rang true this time," Andrews said. "We need someone like you on our team." He stepped aside. "I'd like you to meet Mr. Jeremy Bratt. He'll be working with you on the interior designs."

Jeremy reluctantly shook Brynne's hand. "How do you do?" he greeted. Brynne Larence was attractive, yes, but the idea of working with her made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The last thing he wanted was to lead some woman around by the hand all the while catering to her whims. He would never get any work done.

"You're American," Brynne noted with surprise. "I wasn't aware that there were any other Americans working on the Titanic." She took the opportunity to study the man before her. He was six feet tall, if not taller. He was a handsome man with broad shoulders and brown eyes. But there was something behind those eyes that was clearly not warm. Brynne would even go so far as to believe that the man was annoyed.

"I've been working with Titanic since nearly the beginning. That's when I joined the firm," Jeremy said.

"Jeremy, why don't you show Ms. Larence around?" Andrews suggested. "Let her get a feel for the place."

And so it begins, Jeremy thought bitterly.

xxx

"This is the drafting floor," Jeremy said as he and Brynne entered a large room with rows of long tables, each occupied by men pouring over deck plans.

"It's one of the larger ones I've seen," Brynne commented. Her eyes migrated to easel at the back of the room, where an artist's rendition of a completed Titanic was proudly displayed.

"There's a lot of work that must be put into the ships we build here," Jeremy said. "We have to ensure that we are able to accommodate enough architects."

"Oh, I agree wholeheartedly," Brynne concurred. "Any firm worth its weight in salt follows that rule. Even the very large firms. That doesn't mean it won't get crowded, though. I know that from experience."

Jeremy looked at Brynne, surprised by her statement. "You've worked on the drafting floor before?"

"What architect doesn't? I used to spend all my time on the drafting floor. Now, I usually work in my office."

Brynne had just hit Jeremy with surprising facts of such magnitude that he found it difficult to digest it all at once. "You're actually an architect?" he asked.

Brynne chuckled. "Of course. I wouldn't be here if I weren't. I've been in the field for about five years now." Brynne stopped walking and studied him. "What gave you the impression that I wasn't an architect?"

"I meant no insult," Jeremy said. He swallowed, trying to think of the best way to dislodge his foot from his mouth. "It's just that it has been my experience that there aren't many women in our line of work. I assumed that the boundaries of your expertise lay at interior decorating. I see now that I have erred."

"Don't worry; no offense taken," Brynne assured him. "I know I'm somewhat of an anomaly. All I require is that you let me do my job. If you do that, I assure you that you will not regret working with me."

/\/\/

Two weeks later, Jeremy's doubts about Brynne's assurance were multiplying instead of diminishing.

"Why don't we decorate this sitting room in the style of Louis Seize?" Brynne suggested, trying her best not to sound frustrated.

"We can't do that," Jeremy retorted.

"Why not?"

"Because we've already got a sitting room in Louis Seize," Jeremy explained.

"What does it matter?" Brynne asked earnestly. "We aren't going to be able to decorate every single room on board in a different style."

"But that _is_ the goal," Jeremy reminded her. He sighed, already beyond the point of frustration.

"But it just isn't feasible," Brynne argued. She refused to lie down on this issue. "We're going to have some repetition. There's no way around it."

Jeremy glared at Brynne. She had to be the most stubborn woman he'd ever known … but she was right. There just weren't enough styles to go around so that they wouldn't have to be repeated. "Alright," Jeremy relented. "Louis Seize it is."

"Very well," Brynne said. "Shall we move on?"

"No," Jeremy said. "Every time that we've come together to work out the details of the interior design, we've ended up disagreeing about everything. We've only been working for two weeks, but it has happened every time without fail. At this rate, we'll never get done in time. The launch is tomorrow, and after that we're on a very tight schedule. The directors are looking to launch by spring of next year. We must compromise."

Brynne nodded appreciatively. "I'm glad you realize that," she said.

Jeremy looked at Brynne again, amazed. The woman was incorrigible.

/\/\/

The morning of May 31, 1911 brought a flurry of activity to Belfast. By noon, more than 100,000 people had gathered along the River Lagan to bear witness as Titanic was released from her slip into the river.

After the launch, distinguished guests retreated to the Harland and Wolff boardroom for a private lunch hosted by Lord and Lady Pirrie. All other guests went to the Grand Central Hotel in Belfast along with 90 members of the press.

Brynne, sitting beside Jeremy, took a sip of her water. "Is it customary here for a ship to be launched without a champagne ceremony?" she asked him.

"I don't know," Jeremy said. "I didn't attend Olympic's launch, and I wasn't with the firm before work was begun on Titanic. I really hadn't given it much thought until just now, when you brought it up. I don't really think it matters whether there was a champagne ceremony. It doesn't mean that it was an unsuccessful launch."

"No, I never meant to imply that it did," Brynne said. "It was only an observation." She looked away from Jeremy and saw a photographer standing right in front of their table. And he looked as if he were ready to flash his bulb. Brynne quickly turned her face away from the camera. "No," she insisted. "No picture, no picture!" Having her picture published in any paper, even a small one, would be potentially disastrous to her mission. It would provide concrete evidence that she'd been there, and that would be bad for innumerable reasons.

Jeremy regarded Brynne with utter confusion, but he told the photographer to comply with her request. "The lady doesn't want her picture taken," Jeremy told him. "Why don't you move along to another?"

The photographer appeared to be as confused as Jeremy at Brynne's response, but he obliged and moved away from the table. Once he was gone, Jeremy turned to Brynne. "What's the matter?" he asked her. "Most people would love to have their picture in the papers."

"I'm not most people," Brynne said quietly.

"I'm beginning to see that," Jeremy said, eyeing Brynne curiously.

/\/\/

In the following months, Jeremy and Brynne's workload increased considerably as the countdown to sailing day ensued. They still had their disagreements, but the need to finish in time overshadowed their differences, and they were able to work through them. In September, the date of Titanic's maiden voyage was officially set for April 10, 1912.

The months leading up to that date were a flurry of activity, and April arrived in seemingly no time. With its arrival, Brynne and Jeremy dutifully boarded Titanic with Andrews and six other Harland and Wolff employees on April 2nd to take part in the ship's sea trials, which lasted only 12 hours.

By 8 p.m., the trials had ended, the Titanic had been officially handed over to White Star, and the ship was ready to set sail for Southampton. The sun was setting while Brynne stood at the bow of the ship, looking out at Belfast Lough and the Irish Sea beyond. She was so entranced by the view that she didn't hear Jeremy walk up behind her.

"It's beautiful out here, isn't it?"

Brynne whirled around, completely surprised to find Jeremy standing behind her. "Sorry," Jeremy said. "I didn't mean to startle you. Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," Brynne said. Jeremy stepped up to the rail and stood beside Brynne. "I can't believe I'm actually here," she said.

"On the Titanic?" Jeremy questioned.

Brynne looked at Jeremy. She was speaking of her experience in this time period as a whole, but of course, Jeremy wouldn't know that. "Yes, on the Titanic," she said. "This is the largest ship the world has ever seen, and I helped bring her into existence. The very idea is … remarkable."

Jeremy caught himself gazing at her and promptly looked to the water after scolding himself. "I'm very glad that you've been a part of all this," he told her. "Even taking into consideration all the rough patches we encountered. It really wouldn't have been the same without you. And she wouldn't have turned out nearly as good as she did if you hadn't been here."

In spite of Brynne's efforts not to beam from ear to ear, she did. Jeremy Bratt had just paid her one of the very few compliments that he rarely doled out to anyone, least of all, Brynne. "Thank you," she said. She turned to him again. "I told you that if you let me do my job, you wouldn't regret working with me."

Both Brynne and Jeremy became aware of the peculiar sensation of movement. The wind began to beat against their faces.

"Are we moving?" Brynne asked.

"I believe so," Jeremy replied. "It is after 8, after all. We need to be in Southampton by midnight tomorrow."

"This is incredible … " Brynne said. "I'm standing at the bow of the Titanic. I don't think I'll ever experience something quite like this again."

"Sure you will," Jeremy said, leaning over and resting his elbows on the railing. "It won't be long before they start laying down the keel for the Gigantic."

Brynne avoided Jeremy's gaze and continued to look out at the water. She was so sure that her eyes would betray her if she looked at him, and then he would know that she was hiding something. "I know," she said. "But it won't be the same as this exact moment. There isn't anything like the very first time."

"Well, like I said before – Gigantic will probably be on its maiden voyage within the next two years," Jeremy said. "Maybe that experience will surpass even this one."

Brynne finally turned to Jeremy. She contemplated telling him that she wouldn't be around for Gigantic, but before she could open her mouth again, one of the other workers from Harland and Wolff approached.

"I just wanted to let you know that they're starting to serve dinner in the crew saloon," he said.

"Thanks, we'll be right there," Jeremy said.

The young man nodded and left them again. Jeremy turned to Brynne and proffered his arm for her. She looped hers through his, and they left the railing.


	5. Sailing Day

Chapter 5

Wednesday April 10th was a morning brimming with excitement, especially for anyone involved with the _Titanic. _ There were people everywhere, both on the ship and on the dock at Southampton.

Jeremy and Brynne strolled among the passengers who'd already boarded and were now milling about on the enclosed Promenade deck.

"Mr. Andrews seemed nervous this morning," Brynne said.

"He's got a lot to be nervous about," Jeremy said. He walked beside Brynne with his hands clasped behind his back. "Ismay threw many of his safety specs out the window. The bulkhead height, the extra lifeboats … But if anything goes wrong with the ship, it's Harland and Wolff that gets the blame."

"And if everything goes well, Ismay gets the glory," Brynne added.

"It isn't fair, is it?" Jeremy said. He and Brynne walked over to an empty spot near one of the glass windows.

"I don't see how Mr. Andrews can stand it," Brynne said.

"I suspect he knows what to expect from Ismay by now," Jeremy said. "He's been working with the man now for years."

Brynne shook her head. "Even if I had been working with Ismay for as long as Mr. Andrews has, I think I'd still want to take Ismay by the neck."

Jeremy cast an amused glance at Brynne. "Language, language, Ms. Larence," he said.

Brynne returned Jeremy's glance. She knew that he was joking. He should know her well enough by now to be used to her colorful language. Her words wouldn't have made anyone blink an eye in her own time, but in 1912, a respectable woman would never say such things.

"I suppose we shouldn't dwell on it," Brynne said. "What's done is done." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "How's that fire in coal bunker 10?"

Jeremy looked at her with a knowing nod. "It's still smoldering," he whispered. "Mr. Barrett says that it isn't an immediate problem."

Brynne, her eyes wide, turned at Jeremy. "Not an immediate problem?" she balked.

"It isn't as if the fire is raging," Jeremy said. "It's more like a subtle ember. There aren't even any flames. They keep the coal on top damp so the fire won't grow. It's noting to be worried about. Now, if the lookouts do their job, we'll be home free."

"That reminds me – I found a pair of binoculars in my stateroom," Brynne said. "Perhaps someone left them there by mistake. Would you mind getting them to the crow's nest, or where ever they belong?"

"Of course. What cabin are you in?"

"A-2," Brynne replied.

"You're in First Class?"

"Yes," Brynne answered. "Aren't you?"

"No. I'm in second. I'm all the way down on F Deck."

The ship's horn blasted, and Brynne and Jeremy both looked out at Southampton dock. "Looks like we're on our way," Jeremy said, as the ship began to slide past the throngs of people waving at the _Titanic_.

Brynne beamed from ear to ear. The excitement of the day, of the very moment, coursed through her. She'd never expected to feel this way, but everyone else was so excited and happy. It was in the air, and it was contagious.

She turned to Jeremy with a wide grin. "Isn't this wonderful? It's amazing." She looked back out. "Look at all those people."

"And they all wish that they were standing right here, beside us," Jeremy said.

Brynne's smile faded. Those people standing ashore now would be in mourning this time next week. That thought put a real damper on the exuberant feelings Brynne had been experiencing. "I suppose that makes us very lucky, then," she said quietly. She turned to Jeremy again, trying not to think too much about it. "I was going to take lunch in the Café Parisien. Would you like to join me?"

"Are you sure I'm allowed? It is, after all, a First Class amenity."

Brynne raised a brow at Jeremy. "I'm sure it won't be a problem, as you're with me."

"Oh, of course. The fact that I designed the place means nothing whatsoever."

xxx

The Café Parisienne was already open for business by the time the _Titanic_ was steaming toward Cherbourg, France. A good number of passengers had taken advantage and were enjoying their first meals as _Titanic_ passengers. Brynne and Jeremy were finishing their satisfying lunch.

"What did you think about your first real meal on the Titanic?" Jeremy asked.

"This is hardly my first meal here," Brynne reminded him. "I ate in the crew saloon, too, don't you remember? I was right there beside you."

"I said your first _real_ meal, in the passenger areas, among the passengers. I'm talking about the experience of it all."

"Oh. Well, in that case, it was very enjoyable. Better than I would have ever anticipated." Brynne picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip. "I just can't get over this."

"What?" Jeremy asked.

"This ship. I can't get over the fact that we had a part in it."

"It is a little surreal," Jeremy agreed, taking a sip from his own cup.

"I've never been a part of anything that anyone has ever made a big fuss over before," Brynne said.

"Now that is something I find difficult to believe." Jeremy dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin and settled back into his chair.

"Why is that?"

"Because I would've thought that people would make a fuss over everything you do."

"Because I'm a woman," Brynne guessed, sipping from her coffee again.

"Because you're brilliant."

Brynne nearly sputtered into her coffee. "Brilliant?"

Jeremy grinned at Brynne's reaction. "Don't tell me that comes as a surprise to you."

"It does. I've never been called brilliant before."

"I'm not just _calling_ you brilliant – you _are_ brilliant."

"Why on earth would you say something like that?" Brynne asked, grinning slightly. She knew a blush had already appeared on her cheeks by now.

"Oh, it isn't just me saying those kinds of things," Jeremy said.

"Who else might it be, then?"

"Everyone," Jeremy insisted. "Mr. Andrews, Mr. Carlisle, Lord Pirrie."

"That isn't everyone," Brynne said. Her tone was dismissive, but she was actually elated. If people were really that satisfied with her work, it meant that she'd done at least part of this mission correctly. She'd been convincing at Harland and Wolff; now she needed to get her hands on that notebook those COSI agents had left behind.

/\/\/

"I'm going to get the notebook tonight," Brynne said. She turned away from the window in her stateroom. It was only the first night at sea, but the sooner the notebook was in her possession, the better.

"What time?" Carmen asked.

"I haven't decided, yet," Brynne said. She turned around to face Carmen. "It's got to be late, though. It would probably be best if no one saw me."

"What room is it in?"

"B-16," Brynne said. "The reports from the agents who were last here say they left it in a drawer." Brynne turned and looked at the small clock on the wall. "1:00 seems like a good time to go. What do you think?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Carmen said. "Once you have the notebook, you do realize that you're not to leave it anywhere?"

"I understand. Payton made that very clear to me."

"And whatever you do, don't let anyone see it," Carmen reminded.

"Give me a little credit, at least," Brynne said, annoyed. "I'm a rookie, but I'm not stupid."

"I just wanted to make sure that you still know where the boundaries are when it comes to certain people." Carmen's gaze was steady, and it was obvious that it was meant to imply something.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brynne asked.

"You know what it means. I've been watching you and Bratt. You two have been getting awfully close." Carmen walked across the room to put away some towels that had been delivered earlier.

Brynne walked over to her. "So because we had lunch together, that automatically means we're sleeping together?"

"I'm trying to intervene before that happens." Carmen shut the drawer and turned to Brynne. "You can't get too involved, Brynne. I know they drilled that into your head during training."

"Yes, they did. And I'm keeping my distance as best I can without arousing any suspicion. But it's only natural to form some kind of relationship with people that you spend a year working with. You can't expect me not to form any relationship at all."

"I can if that relationship has the potential to jeopardize the mission. The mission comes first, Brynne. _Always_. Not friends, not feelings – the mission."

xxx

As the clocks on _Titanic_ ticked toward 1 a.m., Brynne descended the deserted Grand Staircase to B deck. She moved quickly and quietly toward the B-deck staterooms. B-16 was the first door on the right side of the corridor. Once she was sure no one was watching her, she pulled out her key to the room and slid it into the keyhole. The lock clicked softly, and the door opened effortlessly. She walked into the room, making sure to close and lock the door behind her.

She found a lamp, turned it on, and immediately began to search the room for the notebook. She moved to the first drawer she saw, a desk drawer, and pulled it open. Nothing but a map of the ship was inside. She closed it and looked around the room. She walked into the adjoining room, the bedroom. She made a beeline for the dresser and pulled out the top drawer. Nothing. She pulled out the next drawer. Nothing. She moved on to the third drawer and found a notebook. She reached in and pulled it out. There was nothing on the cover, but Brynne knew that it had the thing she'd been looking for.

Before she could open it up to make sure, though, she heard a noise. Someone jiggled the doorknob to the room. There was no other way out of the room, only the one door that she'd come in through. Brynne held the notebook behind her and waited for the door to open. She tried to think of an explanation for her presence in this room, which was supposed to be unoccupied.

Brynne waited, but the door didn't swing open. Instead, the doorknob stopped jiggling. Brynne heard soft footfalls on the carpet in the hallway, walking away from the door.

When she could no longer hear the footfalls, Brynne slowly pulled the door open. She looked both ways up and down the corridor but didn't see anyone. She desperately wanted to flip through the notebook, but figured that it would be better to get back to her stateroom immediately and worry about the notebook later. She stepped out into the corridor and closed and locked the door to B-16. She began a brisk walk down the corridor. She was almost at the Grand Staircase. She rounded the corner of the landing and ran into a man. It was Andrews.

"Brynne?"

"Mr. Andrews," Brynne said, steadying herself against the rail. She realized she was winded from her power walk and tried to slow her breathing.

"What are you doing out so late?" he asked.

"Well," Brynne said, trying to think of something, "I was just having another look around, to see how the colors and designs worked together and to see if anything should be changed." She hoped she sounded convincing and that her voice wasn't giving anything away.

Andrews grinned at Brynne. There was a hint of skepticism in his face. "Is this your usual method of fighting insomnia?"

"Insomnia?" Brynne repeated. Then she nodded. Insomnia was as good an explanation as any. "Sometimes," she said.

Andrews's brown eyes fell to the notebook in Brynne's hands. "What's that you're holding there?" he asked.

Brynne stopped walking. She had forgotten about the notebook just that quickly. She looked down at it and then back up at Andrews. "Oh, these are just some notes that I was jotting down."

Andrews nodded. "You know, you shouldn't be roaming around this late by yourself. It isn't safe."

"I know. Actually, I'm on my way to my stateroom now." Brynne began to climb the staircase. Andrews climbed with her.

"A lot of people find that reading does the trick," Andrews suggested. "To cure insomnia, I mean."

"So I've heard," Brynne said. "I'll have to be sure and give it a try."

"You aren't nervous about this trip, are you?" he asked.

"A little," she said. "This is the first time I've ever done something like this. Most of the structures I usually work on are meant to be stationary. And I believe I have a legitimate reason to be a little nervous."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. I can imagine that it hasn't been easy for you this last year. But you've done good work, and no matter what anyone says about you, they can't deny you that."

"I appreciate your kind words, Mr. Andrews, as always," Brynne said.

"They aren't just words, Brynne. It's true. You've become a valuable member of the firm. Trust me – you have nothing to worry about."

They reached the top of the staircase, and Brynne and Andrewes walked toward the A-deck cabins.

"You've been working hard, Brynne," Andrews said. "I know this isn't a pleasure cruise for us, but you be sure to take some time out to enjoy yourself before we dock next week."

"I will, sir," Brynne said. She walked over to the bedroom door. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Brynne." Andrews walked past her on the way to his own stateroom. Brynne pushed the door to her stateroom open and rushed inside. Carmen was there waiting. She pounced to her feet when Brynne entered the room.

"You got it," Carmen said.

"It was right where they said it would be," Brynne said. "In a drawer inside the stateroom." She handed the notebook to Carmen, who eagerly accepted it. She opened it and began flipping through the pages.

"What's wrong?" Brynne asked when she saw Carmen's knitted brows.

"Brynne, I don't think this is the right notebook," Carmen said slowly.

"What do you mean? It was the only one there."

Carmen shook her head and looked from the notebook to Brynne. "This can't be the right notebook."

"Why not?"

"Because," Carmen began, handing the notebook over to Brynne again, "it's empty."

Brynne flipped through the notebook. Page after page after page – all of them were blank, not even so much as a stray pen mark anywhere.

Brynne, at a complete loss for words, looked at Carmen. If this notebook was blank, where was the one they needed to find? There was no telling on a ship as large as the _Titanic_. It could be anywhere. Anywhere at all.


	6. Lost and Found

Chapter 6 – Lost and Found

The next morning, Brynne was up at the crack of dawn helping Andrews inspect the swimming pool. It was deserted except for Brynne and Andrews, who were working their way through the follow-up inspections they, along with all the other members of the Harland and Wolff team, would be performing for the duration of the trip.

Andrews peered over into the water and scribbled something in his notebook. He looked around the room, up at the ceiling, at the hand rails. Then he scribbled something else.

"Mr. Andrews?"

"Yes, Brynne?"

"Do you think Mr. Ismay will make any changes to your plans for the Gigantic at the expense of safety?"

"Most likely," Andrews said. He looked at Brynne. "If all goes well on this crossing, 'tis very likely." He left the swimming bath with Brynne.

"Do you think he'll want to change even more than he changed on the Titanic?" Brynne asked.

"I wouldn't be surprised." Andrews and Brynne walked up the stairs to the next deck, E deck.

"You don't think he'll try to get rid of the boats altogether, do you?" Brynne asked.

"He'll try, but he won't get very far."

"He tried to do it this time, didn't he?"

"The man actually tried to bully the Board of Trade. He doesn't understand the fundamentals of shipbuilding, but he wants to tell me how to build my ships. I keep tryin' to tell him you can only push machinery so far. You've got to have something to fall back on."

"Some people don't listen because they don't want listen. They don't want to hear about it until something bad happens or until it's their necks on the line."

"Unfortunately, I have a feelin' that's going to be the case. 'Tis unpleasant to think but true."

Andrews and Brynne walked through the first-class reception room and the dining room. It was still very early, so there weren't any passengers present while they looked underneath tables and behind curtains. They didn't spend much time there before moving on to the pantry.

"Dr. O'Loughlin and I were just discussin' this very thing last night," Andrews continued, as he scribbled something down in his notebook.

"Who?" Brynne asked.

"Dr. William O'Loughlin. He's my dinner partner. We were discussin' this last night. He agrees with us. Bein' a doctor, he knows that you can't always rely on machinery."

"He's right."

"Doctors usually are. And so are engineers."

They left the pantry and headed for the second-class galley.

"You're welcome to join us for dinner in the saloon, if you like," Andrews offered.

"Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Andrews, but Jeremy and I usually dine together in the crew saloon."

"Bring him along. We'll make a party of it."

"Alright. If you're sure you won't you or the doctor won't mind."

"Mind? Of course not. You come join us for dinner, and bring Jeremy, too."

"We'll be there."

/\/\/

Friday afternoon, Brynne and Jeremy were inspecting the mail hold. It was pretty deserted down there, as usual. The two were chatting away while they checked to make sure that everything was in near perfect order, mechanically and structurally.

When Brynne ran across the car, she had to stop and look at it. She shook her head. "I guess this was before they had rental cars," she said mumbled to herself.

But Jeremy had heard her anyway. "What was that?" he asked her.

"I was just admiring this car," Brynne said louder.

Jeremy walked over to where she stood at the car. "It is a beauty, isn't it?" he said. "One day, I'm going to have one of my own."

"Are you going to take it with you overseas?" Brynne asked.

"No. I won't need to because I'll have a car of my own on both shores."

"Mr. Big Time High Roller," Brynne said.

"Not necessarily. Pretty soon everyone's going to have one of these babies. It's going to catch on, more people will buy them, and the prices are going to plummet. I bet the cities will be full of large lots where people will be able to walk in and drive out."

"You think so?" Brynne asked.

"Oh, definitely. And it'll be something to see. Brynne, we're so lucky to be alive now. There's so much progress and technology today that I don't see how things can advance much beyond where they are now."

"You never know … "

"For me to believe that things can get much better than they are today, I'd have to see it with my own eyes before I even thought about believing it."

Brynne turned away from him and began checking some hinges on some of the grates, when a forlorn notebook caught her attention. Why would a notebook need to be packed away in the cargo hold? Surely, it couldn't have taken up so much space that the passenger couldn't have carried it with them?

Brynne reached out and picked up the small, leather-bound book. She opened it, and her eyes went wide. This was it – the notebook. _The_ notebook. Why hadn't it been where it was supposed to have been. And who had moved it down here? She'd been discretely searching for it ever since she'd failed to retrieve it on her first try. That had been nearly two days ago.

"Find anything interesting over there?" Jeremy asked.

Brynne slapped the book shut and turned to Jeremy. "No," she answered. "I was just double-checking something on this gate. Everything looks to be in order, though."

"Thank goodness," Jeremy said with a tired sigh. "I was afraid you'd found something down here that needed some attention. We're all done for now, and I don't think I can stand being boxed in down here any longer."

"Why, Mr. Bratt, you aren't claustrophobic, are you?" Brynne asked, smiling.

Jeremy didn't answer, but the look on his face, though equally jovial, hinted that Brynne's quip might have hit a bit close to home.

The pair exited the cargo hold. As the door slammed shut behind them, they ascended ascended a long narrow staircase and eventually emerged on the third-class promenade.

"It feels so good to be done for the day," Jeremy said.

"We're actually done early for a change," Brynne added. "Do you have anything special planned for tonight?" They walked over to the railing and faced the sea. Many of the passengers present watched Brynne and Jeremy with curiosity, probably trying to figure out why they were in a third-class area. Judging from their clothing, they were not likely to be traveling on third-class fare. The passengers thought it equally odd that these two misplaced souls didn't seem to notice that they weren't supposed to be in third-class.

Jeremy leaned forward and rested his elbows on the rail. He looked out at the water. "What would I have planned?" he said in response to Brynne's question. "I was anticipating having to work. What about yourself?"

"Mr. Andrews invited me to dine with him at his table in the saloon tonight," Brynne said. "He said you're more than welcome to join in, too, if you like."

"Let's see – dinner alone in crew quarters or second-class, OR dinner with my boss and my charming colleague in first-class," Jeremy said, feigning indecisiveness. "That really is a tough one."

"I'll see you tonight, then," Brynne said.

"Yes. I could come by your stateroom and escort you to the saloon," Jeremy offered. "If that would be to your liking, I mean."

Brynne nodded. "That would be more than acceptable." She gave him one more smile. "I'll see you in a few hours." And she left him at the railing.

xxx

Jeremy and Brynne descended the Grand Staircase to the first-class reception room. It was the first time Brynne had seen the landing as it was meant to be seen, with scores of people in fabulous clothing floating down the opulent staircase to the sound of a stringed ensemble in the reception room. The music wafted up to meet people as they descended from higher decks.

"Do you see Mr. Andrews?" Brynne asked.

Jeremy's eyes quickly scanned the reception room before they reached the last steps. "Yes, there he is," he said. He stood across the room with another man. He cleared the last steps with Brynne, and they began to meander through throngs of the ship's upper crust, who had gathered in bored anticipation of dinner. This may have all been a new experience for Brynne, but it was now Friday night. This was the third night that most of these people had gone through the nightly dinner rituals. It was old news to them by now.

Andrews spotted Brynne and Jeremy before they arrived. He turned to his companion, Dr. O'Loughlin. William O'Loughlin was an older man, slight in physique and stature. He had a full head of hair, though it had long ago turned white, and round spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose.

"Here are two of my people, now," Andrews told him. "I was telling you about them earlier." He and O'Loughlin watched Brynne and Jeremy's approach from across the room.

"Thank you again, Mr. Andrews, for inviting us to join you for dinner," Jeremy said. He and Andrews shook hands.

"Jeremy, Brynne – I'd like you to meet Dr. William O'Loughlin," Andrews introduced. "Dr. O'Loughlin, this is Mr. Jeremy Bratt and Ms. Brynne Larence."

Pleasantries were exchanged all around while hands clasped in greeting.

"Well, now that our party is all here, why don't we find our table and take our seats?" Andrews suggested.

xxx

"Mr. Andrews has been telling me a great deal about the work that the two of you have been doing," O'Loughlin said after the first course had been set out before them on the table. "It's very impressive, the amount of work you've been able to take on. What intrigues me most is you, Ms. Larence."

"Is that so?" Brynne asked.

"Yes. How did you end up with a career in ship design? You must get this question all the time. I hope I'm not being too forward."

"No, not at all," Brynne said. "I've always been interested in structures." She looked down at her plate briefly, as if reminiscing. "Even as a child. I found them fascinating. With a little luck and a lot of hard work, I made it through university and found a company in the States to apprentice with. After a few years as an apprentice, I began to work for that very same company as a bona fide architect." She looked up from her plate again, making eye contact with Andrews, then with O'Loughlin. "Now, originally, ship design wasn't my goal, but fate has a way of dealing in life so that we often end up where we don't expect to, for it was completely by chance that I landed at Harland and Wolff. I was attempting to send some designs to my sister, who was staying in England at the time, but they must have been delivered to the wrong address by the post, that wrong address being the offices of Harland and Wolff."

Brynne finally looked at Jeremy. "I've never been so happy for postal incompetence." Their eyes were stuck together, and something unspoken passed between them.

The whole spiel had been a complete load of nonsense, but no one else besides Brynne knew that. Telling them the truth, that women had comprised nearly 50 of her graduating class, was not an option.

"That is quite a journey," O'Loughlin said.

"Sometimes, it's difficult for me to believe that it actually happened," Brynne said, her eyes still on Jeremy. His face bore a look that, at first, she thought she had never seen on him before. But she soon realized that she had seen it before. It was the same look she'd seen on his face when they'd first met. It was a subtle look of surprise and awe. Not that his jaw was hanging open to the table or anything, but it revealed itself in his eyes.

"It's turned out to be a wonderful blessing," Brynne concluded. She looked away from Jeremy shyly and hoped that she wasn't blushing.

xxx

"I'm glad we had dinner with Mr. Andrews and Dr. O'Loughlin," Jeremy said. He and Brynne walked the first-class promenade with the other post-dinner strollers.

"Me, too," Brynne said. "They're good people."

Brynne and Jeremy walked a little longer in silence. They moved to the railing and stopped walking.

"It's so beautiful out here and peaceful," Brynne said, looking out at the endless darkness.

"It's like a dream," Jeremy said. Brynne turned to him. She hadn't expected something like that to come out of Jeremy Bratt's mouth. It sounded much too syrupy for his character. Mr. Bratt was just a bundle of surprises tonight. First, there had been the look on his face at dinner, and now the sentimental language.

Jeremy continued. "That's one of the reasons I like this crossing," he said. "It's so peaceful sometimes." He pointed out to the darkness that extended before them. "Look at that – you can't even tell where the sky ends and the sea begins. Everything goes on forever in all directions."

Brynne looked at Jeremy, and he looked at her. His brown eyes twinkled like two stars. He looked like he wanted to say something, and that scared Brynne because she already had an idea of what he might say. She turned back to the water and focused on the sky. But Jeremy didn't look at the sky or at the stars.

"Look at those stars," Brynne said. "It looks like someone took a big blanket, poked a million little holes in it, and held it up to a light. The stars are what you get when the light seeps through the holes."

Finally, Jeremy turned away from Brynne. He looked at the stars briefly, then at the water. But he couldn't help it; he had to look at Brynne again.

"What are you going to do while we're in New York?" he asked her.

"Well, I'm not staying for very long," Brynne said. "I'm leaving for D.C. almost immediately."

"D.C.? You're not coming back to Britain?"

Brynne shook her head and answered, "No."

"Why?"

"I'm going back to my old job. I can't really explain it all to you. I just have to go back."

Jeremy sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing. "Andrews isn't going to like this." He looked at Brynne. "You're one of his best, you know."

"So are you," Brynne reminded him. "I know you're going back to work on Gigantic, but what are your plans after?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll go back the States." Jeremy looked out at the inky water. "I could track you down and visit you."

"I'd have to find _you_," Brynne said with a smile, "because you wouldn't be able to find me." She didn't dare explain to him why, but it didn't matter because that situation would never occur.


	7. Just Friends

Chapter 7 – Just Friends

"You certainly are in a chipper mood this morning," Carmen noted. She stood behind Brynne tying the strings on the latter's corset. "Especially since I know that lacing the corset isn't exactly your most cherished ritual of the day," Carmen added.

Brynne held on to the bedpost. She'd been on this mission for a year, and her body had become accustomed to being stuffed into a corset. That didn't mean that she enjoyed the daily experience, though. She hated it. Even more detestable were the ill effects that corsets were having on her body. She was afraid she was going to have permanent physical damage because of those damn things.

"I don't know," Brynne said. "It could be because it's Saturday. Even though it's just another work day for me, Saturday still feels like an exciting day."

"Perhaps," Carmen said. "Or perhaps it could be that a certain someone, a certain co-worker, has caught your eye?"

"Carmen, you should be ashamed of yourself," Brynne chided. "You know Mr. Andrews is happily married, with a child, no less."

"I wasn't talking about him," Carmen said. "I think you know that already."

Brynne continued to look straight ahead so that Carmen couldn't see the truth in her eyes. "Jeremy – I mean, Mr. Bratt -- and I are just friends," she said.

"I just wanted to make sure that you still know where the boundaries are when it comes to certain people."

Brynne turned around to face Carmen. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means. I've been watching you and Jeremy. You two have been getting awfully close."

Brynne rolled her eyes. "So, because I'm a woman and he's a man, that automatically means we want to jump into bed with each other?"

"I'm trying to intervene before that happens." Carmen turned Brynne back around and resumed lacing the corset. "You can't allow yourself to get too involved, Brynne. I know they drilled that into your head during training."

"Yes, they did. And I'm keeping my distance as best I can without arousing any suspicion. But it's only natural to form some kind of relationship with a person you've spent a year working with. You can't expect me not to form any relationship at all."

"I can if that relationship has the potential to jeopardize the mission. The mission comes first, Brynne. Always. Not friends, not feelings – the mission." As if to drive home her point, she finished the corset with a severe tug before tying the strings off.

xxx

"I really don't see the point of agonizing over this," Jeremy said. He and Brynne stood in the Palm Court and Verandah Café, their eyes focused intently on the pebbled floor.

"If Mr. Andrews is concerned with it, then it obviously deserves our attention," Brynne said.

"But what difference does it make? It doesn't make any sense to go through all the trouble of pulling up a few pebbles just because the ratio isn't exactly equal."

"Maybe it does make a _little_ difference." Brynne looked up from the floor and tilted her head slightly as she took in the atmosphere of the café. "I think that the number of dark pebbles does make the room feel darker."

Jeremy rolled his eyes, and led the way to the kitchen. It was a smaller-scale version of the large kitchens adjacent to the restaurant and the dining rooms.

"While we're surveying the floors on this ship, why don't we mention the floor in here to Mr. Andrews?" Jeremy suggested. "The color is all wrong for food preparation. Maybe we can have it ripped up and replaced, too."

"You can be the one to pitch that one," Brynne said.

"Coming through!" A large cart loaded with stacks of china was pushing its way through the very narrow kitchen. "Watch it, folks; you don't want to get your toes caught under this."

Neither Brynne nor Jeremy could see who was pushing the cart and talking, but they heeded his advice without question. Brynne moved so that her back was against the sink, and Jeremy stood in front of Brynne, facing her. It became clear that the clearance was still not going to be adequate. Jeremy moved closer to Brynne, as close as was physically possible, effectively pinning her between himself and the sink.

Brynne tried to avoid eye contact with Jeremy. But when he was forced to lean in even closer because of the passing cart, her eyes found his. She breathed in his clean, spicy scent and felt the warmth of his body through her clothes. For a few seconds she felt like her body was on fire, a sensation that wasn't at all unpleasant. She had to resist the urge to wrap her arms around those broad shoulders of his. Instead she struggled to find somewhere else to put her hands. One of them accidentally pushed against the knob on the sink and turned the water on, surprising them both. It was then that they realized that the china cart had passed and was already out in the dining room. The two of them straightened up and promptly separated from each other.

"Sorry about that," Jeremy said. "The cart … "

Brynne grinned nervously. "It's alright. No harm done."

Andrews walked into the kitchen, interrupting the awkward moment. "There you are," he said. "I'd like you to take a look at the drapery in the restaurant. Something looks off about it, but I can't figure out what it is."

"Of course, Mr. Andrews," Brynne said, as she made a hasty exit from the tiny kitchen.

Andrews watched her go, wondering what had made her so flustered. He turned to Jeremy and saw that he didn't look much better than she. He reached over and turned off the sink faucet, wondering why it had been turned on in the first place.

/\/\/

At sunset, Brynne was already dressed and prepared for dinner. She was on deck, staring out at the sun as it sank into the sea. The longer she remained on this mission, the more difficult it was to come to terms with the fact that this world would soon be no more. In about 30 hours, this ship was going to be fast on its way to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

"Brynne?"

Brynne knew it was Jeremy. It didn't take much for her to recognize his voice. She turned around and watched him. He strode slowly toward her, his coat tails flapping gently behind him.

"You weren't trying to hide from me, were you?" he quipped.

"Where would I hide?" Brynne asked. "You know much more about the ins and outs of this ship than I do." She turned back to the rail. She didn't want to miss the last precious moments of the sunset. "How did you know I was here?"

"Call it a lucky guess," Jeremy said. He'd noticed that Brynne seemed to be drawn to sunsets. After the Titanic had completed her sea trials, he'd found her on deck at sunset, too. They both watched the sun disappear beneath the horizon.

Neither knew what to say to each other, after that awkward incident in the kitchen earlier. Neither of them trusted themselves much after that. Something so simple as a passing china cart had opened the door to something that neither of them had seriously considered before. Now, both of them were finding it difficult to forget about, and they couldn't easily shut that door now.

"So, we aren't dining with the doctor tonight?" Brynne asked.

"No," Jeremy said. "We'll be sitting at Bruce Ismay's table."

"What fun," Brynne deadpanned. The last thing she wanted to do was stare at Ismay's mug for a few hours. Her appetite was fleeing at the very thought.

"We should probably go in there, now," Jeremy suggested.

Brynne looked at Jeremy. "If we must."

"We must." Jeremy crooked his arm for Brynne, and she accepted.

/\/\/\

The first course hadn't even been brought out, yet, but Brynne was already counting the seconds until it was all over. She tried her best to look content; she could only hope that she was successful. At least she was sitting between Andrews and Jeremy.

"Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Mr. Dawson," one woman at their table requested. Her green eyes were trained on the young blonde man sitting on the other side of Jeremy. Brynne could tell from the woman's sarcastic, mocking tone that she probably didn't want to hear about the accommodations in steerage. "I hear they're quite good on this ship."

"The best I've seen, ma'am," the young man said. "Hardly any rats." A chorus of gentle laughter erupted from the table's occupants. This was obviously a person who was good at keeping his cool under pressure. He was able to let the woman's loaded comments roll off of him like they were nothing and had even come up with a witty retort of his own.

A raven-haired, dark-eyed fellow leaned into the table, joining the conversation. "Mr. Dawson is joining us from the third class," he informed. "He was of some assistance to my fiancée last night."

The next person to speak was the young red-head seated beside Andrews. "It turns out that Mr. Dawson is quite a fine artist," she said. "He was kind enough to show me some of his work today."

"Rose and I differ somewhat in our definition of fine art," the raven-haired man said has he helped himself to caviar being presented by the waiter at his side. "Not to impugn your work, sir," he added as an afterthought.

The good-natured outsider shrugged it off, completely unoffended.

Ismay took advantage of the lull in the conversation to bring Brynne and Jeremy into the action. "Ms. Larence, Mr. Bratt – I'm delighted to see that you could join us this evening," Ismay said.

"I think I can safely speak for both of us when I say that we appreciate the opportunity to dine with you and your party, Mr. Ismay," Jeremy said after exchanging a brief glance with Brynne.

"Mr. Bratt and Ms. Larence are members of the Harland and Wolff team," Ismay said, addressing the other guests at the table. "They're on board to help ensure that everything with the ship keeps running smoothly, and to make sure that things are even better for our future. We maintain an ongoing relationship with the builders. She may be mine on paper, but in the eyes of God, she belongs to Thomas Andrews. He knows every rivet in her, don't you, Thomas?"

"Your ship is a wonder, Mr. Andrews, truly," Rose complimented.

"Thank you, Rose," Andrews said.

"Ms. Larence," the older red-head began, "what exactly is the nature of the work that you do?" The question dripped with something insincere and sinister.

"I'm an architect by trade and profession," Brynne began, "but for Titanic, I designed and decorated the interiors of the ship, along with Mr. Bratt."

"You're actually an architect?" Rose said. Her face conveyed an expression of awe.

"I am, yes," Brynne replied. "I went to architecture school. I usually design buildings, so Titanic is the first ship that I've worked on."

"Which rooms are yours?" The question came from Molly Brown, whom Jeremy and Brynne had met the day before.

"I wouldn't call any of them mine exclusively. They're really more like joint efforts between Mr. Bratt and me."

"Ms. Larence is being modest," Andrews jumped in. "It's true that she and Mr. Bratt collaborated, however there are rooms for which Ms. Larence is directly responsible. Among them are the first- and second-class libraries, the ladies reading room, and the very room in which we're sitting."

"I knew there was a reason I liked this room so much," Molly said. "We need more women like you, career women."

"And I suppose that while the women are off pursuing their _careers_, their husbands should remain at home to take care of the children and other household affairs?" It was the dark-haired man again. "I believe that the only women who work outside the home are those who don't have a family and are unable to find a suitable husband. Proper ladies do not work outside the home." Was it these people's mission in life to be completely negative and antagonistic all the time?

"Well," Brynne said with a sigh, "I guess we just have a difference of opinions, then." She pasted a smile on her face that was just as fake as the smiles most of these first-class people plastered on their faces all day.

xxx

Brynne was surprised that dinner wasn't as unbearable as she'd initially anticipated. Molly, Andrews, and Jeremy had made the experience palatable, especially Molly, who'd told some hilarious stories. Now the dessert dishes were scattered across the table, and cigars were being wheeled out for the men. The ritual signaled the conclusion of dinner. The men began to rise and bid farewell to their female dinner companions. Jeremy remained seated.

"Are you going to the smoking room with everyone else?" Brynne asked him.

Jeremy turned to her and leaned back into his chair. "I believe I can think of a better way to spend the rest of the evening,"

xxx

Brynne had no idea what she was walking into when she stepped into the third class general room with Jeremy, but it didn't take her long to figure out that she liked it. When she descended the stairs into the room, she found herself in the middle of the best party she'd witnessed since she'd first started this mission. It had all the elements of a great party: Great music, good people, and alcohol.

"If you want to leave, we can," Jeremy offered.

"Leave?" Brynne said. "Of course not. I haven't had this kind of fun in ages. How did you find out about this?"

"You can't have a job like ours and not find out about things like this," Jeremy said.

"Well, _I_ didn't know about it."

"You have to know where to look."

The pair began to move through the crowd, and they soon realized that they weren't the only ones from first class who had ventured down to the lower decks to blow off a little steam. A few feet away, they saw Dawson and Rose. Brynne and Jeremy gravitated toward Rose, who was seated at a table, sipping on a drink.

"Quite a change in atmosphere, isn't it?" Brynne shouted over the loud music. She stepped around so that Rose could see her.

"Ms. Larence," Rose said, bolting to her feet. She looked mortified, like a child caught red-handed with her hand in the cookie jar before dinner. "What are you doing here?"

"To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure at first," Brynne admitted. She looked around at all the happy, energetic people. It was a stark contrast from the stiff people who comprised the majority of first class. Brynne had wondered whether some of the people at dinner were even alive still. "Jeremy brought me," Brynne continued. "I think I like it, though."

She looked at Rose again, who still looked like she'd seen a ghost. Brynne and Jeremy exchanged concerned glances. "Are you okay, Rose?"

Dawson walked over to where the group stood. He eyed Jeremy suspiciously. "Is everything okay, Rose?"

Rose looked at Brynne. "Is it?" Rose asked.

"Yes," Brynne said. "Of course it is."

"We didn't come here to cause any trouble," Jeremy said. "We've been working hard here. We just came to have a good time."

A smile broke out across Dawson's face. "You came to the right place, then," he said.

A man with cigarette hanging out of his mouth carefully walked up to the table and placed four glasses filled with brown liquid on the table. The man looked at Jeremy and Brynne, immediately zeroing in on their formal attire. "It's gettin' to be quite a party, isn't it?" he quipped.

"Tommy, these are some friends of mine from upstairs," Dawson said. "They helped design this ship."

"Did you, now?" Tommy asked. "Well, Jack, it looks like you're comin' up fast in the world. Dinin' in first class, makin' first class friends. You might as well get a cabin and stay up there." He laughed to bring home the point that his statement was meant to be taken as a joke.

Dawson reached toward the table, picked up two of the drinks, and handed them to Brynne and Jeremy.

"Thanks," Jeremy said. He immediately took a large gulp from his glass.

"What is it?" Brynne asked.

"It's stout," Jeremy said. "It's a type of beer. Try it; it's pretty good." He watched Brynne for her reaction.

Brynne took a tentative sip, testing. She was surprised that she actually liked it.

"Well?" Jeremy asked.

"You're right, it's good."

"See?" The music changed to a different, but still upbeat, tune. Jeremy took another swig of his beer. "Do you want to dance?"

Brynne nearly choked on her drink. In her mind, she heard Carmen advising her to say no, but all Brynne could think was 'what would be the harm in a little dance?'

She nodded. "Okay." They put their glasses on the table. Jeremy peeled off his jacket and took Brynne's hand. He pulled her body close, and Brynne was reminded of earlier that day in the kitchen, when her body had been tightly pinned between his and the sink. Once again, she smelled his scent and felt his warmth. Her body reacted, tensing at first but then relaxing against him. One of her hands was nestled firmly in his. She placed the other on his shoulder and let him guide her around the floor to the rhythm of the upbeat music. She held on tightly to him, hoping that he wouldn't lead them into the side of a table. And he didn't.

"How did you get so good at this?" Brynne asked.

"I do have a life outside the office, you know," Jeremy said.

They danced. And they drank. And they danced some more. But the room was stuffy, loud, and filled with a cloud of cigarette smoke. Brynne needed a break. She left the room and took temporary refuge in the corridor. Jeremy followed her out.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I just needed some fresh air," Brynne said.

"Do you want me to get you something to drink? Some water?"

"No. I'm fine really."

Both of them leaned against the wall. They looked at each other. The way they were acting around each other now that they were alone, they could have been mistaken for a couple of high school kids.

"Great party in there, isn't it?" Jeremy asked.

"It is. I'm glad you brought me along."

"Me, too," Jeremy said. "I mean, because you're a great person to spend time with. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather get all hot and sweaty with."

Brynne smiled, while Jeremy tried to salvage what he was trying to say.

"Well, not – you know what I mean, right?" he stumbled.

Brynne finally chuckled at his nervousness. "I think I do." Brynne looked at the man beside her. All she could do was shake her head. "I've never seen you like this before," she said. "You don't even seem like the same person I met when I walked into Harland and Wolff a year ago."

"That's because you've only seen me at work. When I'm not at work, I'm not exactly the same person." He slid a little closer to Brynne. "So … "

"So what?" Brynne asked.

"So, what do you think? About this part of me that you've never seen before?"

Brynne looked Jeremy over. "I think I like him."

"Really?"

"In fact, I think he should come out more often."

"I have a small confession to make," Jeremy said, sliding even closer to Brynne.

"What is it?" Brynne asked. Her voice was quieter, now.

"I never really wanted that other guy to come out all that much before."

"Why?"

"There was never much reason for him to show his face before I met you."

Brynne was almost 100 certain that she knew where this was going. She could even hear Carmen in her head lecturing about COSI rules and crossing the line. She pushed the thoughts aside and focused on the intensity of Jeremy's brown eyes.

Jeremy touched Brynne's face and moved in close, gently pressing his lips against hers. She kissed him back. The sensation of his soft lips on hers coupled with the knowledge that he was actually kissing her sent her reeling.

Jeremy pulled away. "Was that inappropriate?" he asked.

Brynne shook her head. "No," she replied. Jeremy promptly kissed her again. The intensity with which she returned his kiss surprised her, but she didn't want to hold anything back. She was giving in and giving up on being the good little COSI agent. She wrapped her arms around him, and she wondered just how far this would go while they were still in the hallway.

"Ms. Larence?"

Brynne and Jeremy separated before they even knew who had spoken to them. Brynne wiped her lips, which tingled from Jeremy's kiss. She looked to the direction of the voice. Embarrassment swept over her when she saw Carmen standing only a few feet away from her. Brynne took a giant step away from Jeremy. It wouldn't make any difference now, as Carmen had already seen them.

"How did you find me?" Brynne asked Carmen.

"It took a bit of detective work, ma'am," Carmen answered. "Pardon me for interruptin', but you have an early mornin' tomorrow. Before we left Belfast, you charged me with seein' to it that you got your proper rest, no matter what it took. I didn't mean to intrude, ma'am. I'm terribly sorry."

"No, it's alright, Carmen," Brynne said. "You've done your duty well. You remember Mr. Bratt, my … co-worker."

Jeremy and Carmen exchanged cordial nods. Brynne turned to Jeremy. "It is rather late," Brynne said. "I really should be going."

Jeremy sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight."

Brynne and Carmen walked past Jeremy en route to Brynne's stateroom. Brynne and Carmen exchanged looks but no words; Brynne knew that she was in for a good verbal dressing down once they were alone.


	8. Boundaries

Chapter 8 - Boundaries

Brynne stalked into her stateroom, Carmen right behind her. "Don't start, Carmen; I don't need to hear it." Brynne cut Carmen off before the other woman even had a chance to begin. "How could you do that to me?"

"Consider it a favor," Carmen said. "You should be glad that I found you when I did."

"I've never been so embarrassed," Brynne said turning away from Carmen.

"Embarrassed?!" Carmen balked. "I guarantee you'll be more embarrassed if this mission fails because you got friendly with the locals. So much for established boundaries … "

"I don't need a lecture from you," Brynne said.

"Yes, you do." Carmen walked over to Brynne. "I should inform you that, as the senior agent on this mission, I do have the authority to temporarily relieve you of duty for the duration of the mission if I feel that you are jeopardizing the mission or are otherwise unfit for active duty. I won't hesitate to do it, either. Understood?"

Brynne didn't look at Carmen. She just stared straight ahead out the window. Carmen was right, Brynne knew, but admitting it was just so damn hard. "Yeah," she said finally, her gaze still out the window.

"Stay away from Mr. Bratt," Carmen warned.

At last, Brynne looked at Carmen. "I already told you that I can't do that." She walked over to the vanity and began to remove the pins from her hair.

Carmen followed her. She stood behind Brynne and began to unfasten her gown. "Yes, you can. And you will."

"What if we have to work together again?" Brynne asked. "I can't refuse to. It's part of my cover, or have you forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten. But working together doesn't require you to kiss him, now does it? Keep it strictly professional." Carmen helped Brynne slide out of the dress. "And when you're not working, keep your distance. Or you'll be spending the rest of this mission in your stateroom with an unbearable 'headache'."

Brynne looked at Carmen behind her in the mirror. She had never before doubted the older woman's sincerity, but the severe expression and the stern gaze that glared back at Brynne let her know that this was not the time to be bold and test limits.

/\/\/\

Brynne arrived at the meeting point, the Grand Staircase, earlier than anyone else. She didn't know how she was going to react around him anymore, now that she had been ordered to keep her distance from him. Technically, she would be working this morning as a tour guide. At least they would be leading different groups. She hoped that some passengers would show up early and that she could leave with her tour group before he even showed up. If she played her cards right, she might be able to completely avoid him. She only had one more day, less than 24 hours, left onboard this ship. Surely, she should be able to stay away from him for that long.

Fate wouldn't have it that way.

"Brynne?" Jeremy appeared to Brynne after having come up from the lower decks. He walked over to her.

"Jeremy-Mr. Bratt -- hello," Brynne said.

"Mr. Bratt?" Jeremy questioned. "That's awfully formal, isn't it? You haven't called me that since we first started working together."

"I decided that it would probably be better to adopt more formality around each other, especially around the passengers," Brynne said. "Remember, this isn't a pleasure cruise; we are working, here. We must behave in a professional manner."

Jeremy nodded. "Yes, of course," he said. "I assume this is because of what happened last night."

"Well, I don't see an overwhelming need to discuss it," Brynne said.

Jeremy smiled broadly, relieved. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that. I thought that you might be angry with me."

Brynne continued. "What would we have to talk about? We made a mistake, but now it's over. We can correct it and move on."

The giant smile on Jeremy's face disappeared quickly as the passengers began to arrive for their tours. The morning religious services had just ended, and those desiring to tour the ship had gravitated immediately toward the Grand Staircase.

"Mistake?" Jeremy repeated. "Brynne—"

"Brynne, Jeremy – goodmorning to you." It was Andrews, coming down the Grand Staircase from the deck above them. "I'm glad you both showed up early. I've got some changes for the tours, if you don't mind."

Brynne and Jeremy both followed Andrews as the three put a little distance between themselves and the passengers. "Of course, Mr. Andrews," Brynne said eagerly. She was glad for the subject change. She was glad for anything that could distract her from Jeremy.

"I need the two of you to conduct the tour as a team," Andrews said.

"A-a team?" Brynne asked.

"That's right. The group I'll be leading is small, but the group you'll be leading is a bit larger," Andrews explained. "I don't want anyone to get lost or left behind, so I think it would be best if the two of you could work together to make sure your group stays together. That won't create problems for either of you, will it?"

"I don't see why it should," Jeremy said.

Andrews smiled, confident his two protégés would have no trouble with this part of their job. They both knew this ship almost as well as he did.

"Bring them back here at the end of the tour," Andrews instructed.

"Consider it done, Mr. Andrews," Jeremy said. He looked the room over, and spotted some passengers approaching their position. He recognized them from the previous night; they'd been dining companions. Rose, her mother, Ruth, and her fiance, Cal. "Is that part of our group coming toward us now?" Jeremy asked.

Andrews looked where Jeremy was looking. "No, actually," he said. "I'll be leading Mr. Hockley's party." His eyes shifted to a different spot. With a slight nod in the direction, he said. "That's your party there."

Jeremy and Brynne turned to the group of 20 or so that had accumulated near the bottom of the staircase.

"Mr. Andrews," Cal greeted jubilantly.

Andrews, Brynne, and Jeremy all turned at the sound of Cal's voice.

"Mr. Hockley," Andrews said. "Goodmorning." He turned to Cal's companions. "Mrs. DeWitt Bukater, Rose – Goodmorning. How was the religious service this morning?"

"It was quite lovely," Ruth replied.

"You all remember my colleagues, Ms. Larence and Mr. Bratt," Andrews said, stepping aside.

"Yes, of course," Cal said. "You joined our party for dinner last night." His brown eyes locked with Brynne's, and Brynne automatically recalled the disagreement they'd had between courses the night before. She couldn't hold it against him, though. He was a product of his environment and of the times. Most men probably felt exactly as he did concerning the matter of women working outside the home.

"Let's get underway, shall we?" Andrews said cheerfully.

xxx

The tour wasn't the painful event Brynne had thought it would be. It was hardly the case that she was alone with Jeremy, not with over twenty people constantly around them, always asking all sorts of questions about the ship.

And then they stopped at the gymnasium. Here, the gymnasium's instructor, McCawley, took over for Jeremy and Brynne.

"Welcome, everyone, to Titanic's state-of-the-art gymnasium," McCawley began. "Here, you'll find only the most advanced fitness technology available."

Brynne and Jeremy remained near the door while the passengers encircled McCawley.

"We have to talk," Jeremy whispered to Brynne.

"I thought we agreed that there was nothing to talk about," Brynne whispered in reply.

"That was before I knew that you regarded last night as a mistake. Is that really how you feel?"

The door opened, surprising them both. Andrews stuck his head in. "Perfect timing," he said. He opened the door wider and led Ruth, Cal, Rose, and the rest of their small tour group into room.

"Mr. Andrews!" McCawley said.

"I hope you don't mind if we join in," Andrews said.

"No, not at all. Please do."

The small group joined the larger group in listening to McCawley boast about the devices in the gym.

Andrews turned to Brynne and Jeremy. "I trust everything has been well with your tour," he said. "No major problems, I hope."

"Everything has been running very smoothly, Mr. Andrews," Brynne said. "In fact, we only have one more stop before we're finished."

"I knew my faith in you wasn't misplaced," Andrews said. He turned his attention back to the tour group, whose members had dispersed and were now milling about the gym. Some had hopped onto the exercise equipment, testing it out and experimenting.

Andrews studied his subordinates. He'd thought earlier that there was something amiss between the two of them, but he'd dismissed it as him looking for something were there was nothing to find. Now, though, he was sure that there was a disconnect between Brynne and Jeremy. The most apparent sign of it was the physical distance between them. Both had never looked so uncomfortable around each other before.

"Are you sure that everything is okay?" Andrews asked again. "There isn't anything wrong that I should know about, or that I could, perhaps, help you out with?"

Brynne and Jeremy exchanged a brief glance. Then, Brynne answered for both of them. "No, sir," she insisted. "We're fine. At least, _I_ am."

"As am I," Jeremy said.

Andrews didn't believe either of them, but he let the matter drop. Co-workers had tiffs and spats all the time. Most likely, that was what caused the current rift between Brynne and Jeremy, Andrews concluded. As long as it didn't affect their work performance, it wasn't his place to meddle. They would get over it.

Andrews kept his eye on their progression around the room, and when he determined that their interest was beginning to wan, he decided it was time to move on.

"Well, looks like I'm off again," Andrews said to Brynne and Jeremy. "I'll see the two of you later." He turned to address his group, which had made their way back to him. "The next stop on our tour will be the bridge. This way, please." Ruth, Cal, Rose, and the others followed him out of the gymnasium.

Brynne grimaced internally. Once again, she found herself alone with Jeremy, who didn't waste any time at all.

"Brynne please – we must talk," he urged.

"I don't think now is a good time, Mr. Bratt," Brynne said icily.

"Will you please stop that?" Jeremy requested. "You've been calling me that all day."

"Professionalism, Mr. Bratt. Professionalism." Before he could protest, Brynne stepped forward and cleared her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, we must be moving on now. If you'll follow me, we'll move on to the conclusion of our tour."


	9. The Adversary

Chapter 9 – The Adversary

At 11:00 P.M., lookouts Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee were eagerly awaiting the end of their shift. It was freezing up in the crow's nest, with the wind hitting the two men at 22 knots. Fleet brought a pair of binoculars to his eyes and peered out at the open sea ahead of them.

"The sea's calm tonight," he commented.

"Too calm, if you ask me," Lee said. "With no moon and a calm sea, the bergs'll be hard to see."

"Well, we'll just have to look harder, then, won't we?" Fleet said. "Besides, we don't have that much longer 'til our shift's up."

/\/\/\

Brynne didn't have much of an appetite for dinner. For some reason, knowing that most of the people on the ship would be dead by morning put a damper on the enthusiastic and festive moods that usually accompanied dinner and she didn't much feel like being around cheerful people. She knew she had to eat, however. She had a long night ahead of her, which she would spend in a cold, damp boat. She would need as much strength as she could muster, so she'd summoned a stewardess to bring her something from the dining saloon.

Brynne only left her room once that evening, to visit the lavatory, but that was long enough, as it turned out. She hadn't planned on straying very far from her room, but she'd made sure that notebook was with her everywhere she went, even if it was only down the hall to the bathroom for a few moments. It would turn out to be one of the best policies she'd ever adhered to.

Brynne had only been away from her stateroom for a few minutes, but when she pushed the door to her room open, she surprised the man inside who was hurriedly searching through her belongings, tossing them about and creating an absolute mess.

"What do you think you're doing?" Brynne demanded of him upon discovery.

The intruder turned to her. Brynne recognized the tall, dark-haired man, as she'd seen him around the ship on a number of occasions, but she didn't know his name. They'd never been formally introduced. He was caught red-handed, but it didn't make any difference to him. He knew what he was after. And with the way his blue eyes honed in on the notebook in her hands, Brynne knew what he was after, too. The man lunged for it, but Brynne was quicker than he, and she darted away from the room and down the hall.

Brynne knew he was behind her. She could hear the quick sound of his shoes on the carpet and his heavy breathing behind her. She wasn't used to running in slippers and a long, flowing bathrobe, but she couldn't let that stop her, even if it was slowing her down considerably. Being chased aboard a ship at sea was one of the scariest circumstances Brynne could think of to find herself in. There was no escape in the middle of the ocean (save for a lifeboat), and one could only hide for so long.

She reached the foyer and sprinted up the Grand Staircase. There was no use looking behind her to see because she knew the man was still behind her. She quickly reached the top of the stairs and darted out onto the boat deck. The frigid air was a stark contrast to the warm interior of the ship, and Brynne instinctively clutched at her arms. The thin bathrobe offered little protection against the cold.

Brynne looked to her left and then to her right. Which way should she go? She wasn't going to be able to outrun him, and there were only so many places she could hide, even on a ship this size. She knew the man would come bursting through the door in only seconds, so she began to run toward the stern. She reached a flight of steps and scurried down them to A deck, then down to B deck. She had an idea.

The man chasing her was obviously after something in her possession, and Brynne was 99 certain that the notebook was what he wanted. She didn't know who he was working for, but he wasn't working for COSI, and that was enough reason for Brynne to want to keep the notebook away from him. She didn't want to have to resort to what she was about to do, but she had no choice. She couldn't let that man get that book.

Brynne sprinted to the very end of the ship. She looked over the rail at the dark depths below and then looked at the notebook in her hands. The man wouldn't get his hands on it if she threw it over. COSI wouldn't, either, but that didn't matter. COSI just wanted to make sure the wrong eyes didn't get a hold of it. If Brynne destroyed the notebook now, they wouldn't.

Brynne pulled her arm back, preparing to pitch the notebook into the open sea. But before she could send it flying over the rail, arms much stronger than hers wrapped around her body, restraining her.

"Oh, no you don't," the man said. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed it hard.

The sudden pain caused Brynne to cry out, and she lost her grip on the notebook. When it slapped the deck, the man let go of Brynne's wrist and immediately went after the notebook. But Brynne wasn't about to give up that easily. She kicked the notebook away from the man and sent it sliding clear across the deck. Brynne doubted it would make much of a difference, but she didn't know what else to do. It would all be over if he gained possession of the notebook.

Almost immediately after she kicked it, Brynne went after it. She was going to have to fight the man for access to the notebook, but this was her job, her mission. She would do everything in her power to keep the notebook away from him.

As she'd expected, the man grabbed her again to keep her from retrieving the notebook. Brynne kicked him. He yelped and grabbed his shin. He forgot his pain when he saw her closing in on the notebook again. He tackled her to the deck and tried to crawl over her to the notebook, but she elbowed him, her hard bone making contact with his stomach. He rolled over onto his back, freeing Brynne for a moment but not for long enough. The man grabbed Brynne's ankle and dragged her backwards along the deck. Brynne quickly rolled over onto her back and kicked the man in the chest, but it only seemed to make him madder. He straddled her and pinned her wrists to the deck.

xxx

Lee shivered and rubbed his arms in vain. There was no getting warm, not up in the crow's nest at this hour.

"Brr!" he said. He blew into his gloved hands and rubbed them together vigorously. "Bloody cold!"

Fleet brought the binoculars to his eyes and peered through them at the sea ahead. He saw something, a dark form that blocked the sky behind it, looming in the distance. He took the binoculars away from his eyes and looked out again, but didn't see anything. He was amazed that he couldn't even see it without the binoculars. He peered through the binoculars again. He could barely make out the dark object, but he could see it. He could see something.

"What is it?" Lee asked.

"I'm not sure," Fleet said. "I'm pretty sure it's a berg." He rung the bell three times and picked up the phone. He continued to look at the dark ice through the binoculars.

xxx

Upon hearing the signal bell, Sixth Officer Moody, on bridge duty, walked over to the phone and picked up the receiver.

"What do you see?" he inquired.

xxx

"An iceberg, sir," Fleet replied to Moody. "I can barely make it out with the binoculars, but it's right in our path."

xxx

"Thank you," Moody said. He hung up and walked out to Murdoch, who stood watch just outside the wheelhouse.

"What is it?" Murdoch asked.

"A berg," Moody said. "Right in our path."

Murdoch brought his binoculars to his eyes. He could see a small black figure ahead, but he couldn't really make it out. The figure was so dim that he couldn't make out exactly how far away it was, but it was better to err on the side of caution.

"Prepare to alter course," Murdoch said.

xxx

Brynne's struggle with the man had halted when the lookout bell sounded. They looked at each other, because they both knew what was about the happen.

Or so they thought.

The man was momentarily distracted by the impending collision, so Brynne took advantage. With as much force as she could muster, she brought her knee up and planted it in the man's crotch.

He crumpled over and tried to ease the searing pain now coursing throughout his nether regions. "You bitch!" he spat.

Brynne wasted no time. She scrambled to her feet and scooped up the notebook. She was shocked, though, when the man, on his feet again, rushed her. He backhanded Brynne across the face with such force that it sent her stumbling backwards. But her grip on the notebook remained firm. The blow stunned her, but she still had most of her wits about her. She was only a few feet away from the rail, so she flung the notebook as hard as she could. The man tried to catch it, but it slid past his fingers on its way to the water below.

"NOOO!!!" he screamed, futilely watching the water. Enraged, he wheeled around and seized Brynne by the throat, driving her backwards against a bench. Brynne felt his fingers tighten around her neck. She felt the tears spring to her eyes as she struggled to take a breath. She felt the world go dark. And then she couldn't feel anything anymore.


	10. Uh oh

Chapter 10 – Uh-oh

Brynne opened her eyes and found herself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. She was lying down in a bed that was not hers, and she had a massive headache. When she turned her head to find out where she was, the room spun, and she closed her eyes to try to get it to stop.

"Oh," she moaned. She wasn't even going to try sitting up.

A woman in a nurse's uniform quickly appeared at the bedside. "Goodevening, Miss," she said. "The doctor said you'd probably be waking about this time."

Time. Time was important, but Brynne couldn't remember what was so important about time.

"What time is it?" she asked. Her throat was sore. Why was her throat sore?

"Oh, it's well after midnight, Miss," the nurse said.

"In the morning?" Brynne asked.

"That's right, Miss. The doctor had expected you to wake up around this time, but I had hoped you would sleep straight through 'til morning. I'll go fetch the doctor, now. He asked to be alerted when you came around."

The nurse left, and Brynne lay on her back, trying to piece together what had happened to her. She assumed that she was in the ship's hospital now, but how had she ended up there? What was the last thing she remembered? She remembered leaving her stateroom to go down the hall …

The door to the room opened and a man entered, followed by Andrews.

"Mr. Andrews," Brynne said.

"Brynne," he said walking over to her bed, "Good Lord, you gave us all a scare."

"What happened?" Brynne asked.

"We found you unconscious on the poop deck," Andrews said. "A stewardess saw you running, and she thought something might be wrong, so she knocked on my door and pointed me in the direction she last saw you headed. She said you were headed aft."

Brynne's memories flooded back to her. "Yes. I remember. I left my room to go down the hall for a moment," she began. "When I returned, there was a man in my room, tearing it apart, looking for something. When he saw me, I ran, but he came after me."

"Why didn't you come to me, or to one of the stewards?" Andrews asked.

"I don't know," Brynne lied. She couldn't have run to him. It hadn't been simply an ordinary thug running after her. He'd been after the notebook, which meant that he hadn't been a native of this time. "I didn't think, I just ran," Brynne continued. "All I could think about was getting away from him. We ended up on the poop deck, and we fought there. I remember his hands around my neck, but I don't remember anything after that."

"That man, whoever he was, nearly strangled you to death," the doctor said. "If he had squeezed much harder or much longer … " He didn't finish the statement, as he didn't want to state the gruesome fact that everyone was already aware of.

"When we got to you, the man was gone," Andrews said, picking up where the doctor had left off. "The Master at Arms thinks he must've jumped overboard. They couldn't find any sign of him anywhere. I left them to investigate, and I brought you down here, to the hospital."

Brynne suddenly looked at Andrews, alarmed. After hearing the whole story recounted to her and having her memories return to her, she remembered the date and the time. "Mr. Andrews – the ship," she said, urgency filling her voice.

"What about it?" Andrews asked.

"The iceberg," Brynne pressed. "Have they started lowering the boats yet?" She didn't understand how he could remain so calm about all this. The ship was sinking out from underneath them.

"The boats. You mean the lifeboats?" Andrews clarified. "Why would we need to lower the lifeboats?"

"Because of the iceberg. Don't you remember? The lookouts rang the bell, and we hit an iceberg."

"No, Brynne. The ship is fine," Andrews assured her. He briefly cast a worried glance at the doctor. "There is a lot of ice around, but we haven't hit any of it. If we did, believe me, I would be among the first to know of it. I think, maybe you were dreaming."

Brynne closed her eyes. What the hell was going on around here? Maybe nearly being choked to death had done something to her perception. Maybe it was the wrong day, or maybe Andrews was lying to her to keep her calm. But why would he do that? There would be no reason for it, none. Or, maybe this was the right day and the right time and something had gone very wrong with history.

"The doctor wants to keep you here overnight to make sure you're okay," Andrews said. "I want you to get some rest tonight. And tomorrow, for that matter."

Brynne opened her eyes and looked up at Andrews. Concern clouded his kind, brown-eyed gaze. "I will," she promised.

"I'll be by tomorrow," Andrews said. He laid his hand upon hers and gently squeezed it before turning and leaving.

Brynne closed her eyes again. This was all wrong. This was all so wrong.

/\/\/\

Lounging on the loveseat in her stateroom Monday afternoon, Brynne sipped warm tea from a small cup. Before beginning this mission a year before, she couldn't stand drinking the stuff. After spending so much time in Britain, where everyone drank tea all the time, Brynne found that she'd acquired a taste for it.

She had returned to her room earlier that day after the doctor had determined that she was well enough to leave the hospital. Andrews had indeed stopped by her hospital room to visit and had escorted her back to her room. Brynne was grateful for Andrews and his kindness toward her during this ordeal, but she couldn't help but think of Jeremy and wonder why he hadn't come to see about her. It was early afternoon, and he was certain to have spoken with Andrews by now. Maybe he was busy, Brynne reasoned. With Brynne out of commission for the rest of the trip, his workload must have doubled.

Why did she even care that he hadn't come by to see her? This was what she'd wanted – distance. It would probably be best for both of them if he didn't come to see her at all and if she never saw him again.

Carmen walked into the room. "We've got to figure out what went wrong, Carmen," Brynne said. "Who was that man?"

"I can't be sure, but I have an idea," Carmen said. "He's a time criminal. I'd thought the chances of running into one of them here would be minimal at most, given the benign nature of our mission. Guess I was wrong."

"What did he want with that notebook?" Brynne directed the question inwardly toward herself as much as she did outwardly toward Carmen.

"I don't know," Carmen admitted, shaking her head. "He didn't want to use it for anything good, that's for damn sure. That was a good call, tossing it into the water."

"I didn't have any other choice."

Carmen began to slowly pace the small distance between the bed and the sofa. "You know, I bet he has something to do with why we missed that iceberg."

"You think so?"

"It has to be. I can't think of anything else, any other factor, that was off. He had to do something. But what?" Unable to formulate an immediate reason, Carmen sat down on the bed.

"Maybe he warned them somehow," Brynne suggested. "Or altered course. Or slowed us down. There's about a million things that he could have changed to alter the course of history."

There was a knock on the door. Carmen rose immediately and went to answer. She was surprised to find a very unpolished-looking Rose. When Brynne saw who it was, she stood, not having been expecting her.

"Rose?" Brynne asked. "Is everything all right?"

"Things are more perfect than they've ever been in my entire life," Rose gushed. "Almost."

"Is there something I can do to help?" Brynne offered.

"Well, I need someone to talk to, some advice," Rose revealed. "And I felt like you were one of the only people who could help because I have a feeling that you will understand my plight."

"Do come in and have a seat," Brynne said. "I'll be happy to help in anyway that I can."

Rose stepped into the room. She walked over and perched on the sofa while Brynne sat down on it beside her.

"That'll be all for now, Carmen," Brynne said. Carmen curtseyed slightly and left the room, giving Brynne and Rose some privacy. Brynne saw Rose's dark eyes flit from her wrapped wrist to the bruise on her cheek.

"I have to apologize for my appearance," Brynne said. "I had a little accident yesterday."

"I'm sorry," Rose said, alarm rising in her voice. "If I had known … perhaps I should come back another time, when you're feeling better." She made a move to rise from the sofa, but Brynne quickly stopped her.

"No, don't worry about it in the least," Brynne insisted. "I'm fine."

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened?" Rose inquired.

"It's quite embarrassing, really," Brynne said. "Mr. Andrews and I were finishing up some inspections, and I slipped and fell down a flight of stairs."

"Good gracious," Rose gasped.

"I managed to knock myself out-cold in the process, but that was the only major injury besides a few bumps, bruises, and a mildly sprained wrist. It scared Mr. Andrews to death, though. Poor man. When he saw me fall and land at the bottom of the stairwell, he thought for sure that I was dead."

"Thank goodness you're all right."

"Yes." Brynne absently felt her neck, which was covered by the high collar of her dress. There were marks there, too, very prominent bruises that created a distinct pattern of fingers on her neck. But it wouldn't do for Brynne to be walking around the ship with what looked like evidence of strangulation. Brynne and Andrews had concocted the stairwell story on the walk from the hospital to her room. They, after all, had the reputation of the ship to think of. It couldn't get out that someone had actually been attacked on the ship and that the perpetrator hadn't yet been caught, or even that he was believed to have jumped overboard. People wouldn't feel safe at all.

"What is it that you need my advice about?" Brynne asked, denying Rose the opportunity to ask anymore questions about her 'fall'.

Rose struggled for her words. "I've decided to leave Mr. Hockley," she said.

Brynne's eyebrows rose immediately. "You mean, cancel your engagement?" she asked.

"Yes," Rose answered.

Brynne had no doubt that the young woman was determined to follow through with her plans, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice. "Well, Rose – that seems like a very bold move, but I'm certain you have good reasons for doing so."

"Oh, I do," Rose said eagerly. "Very good reasons. Do you remember Mr. Dawson?"

"Of course I do," Brynne said. "The young man from third class. The artist?"

"Yes, well … " Rose hesitated. "This may sound quite absurd, but I'm in love with him."

Brynne nodded slowly, the picture now complete. "Is that so?"

"Yes, and I've decided to disembark with him when we reach New York."

"I see. And what did your mother and Mr. Hockley have to say about this development?"

"Therein lies the problem." Rose's demeanor deflated. "They don't know. And I can't tell them. I can't go back there and tell them this. It isn't an option. Cal is the type of person who refuses to be upstaged by anyone. There's no telling what he's capable of in a situation like this."

Brynne's heart went out to the girl. The reality of it was that she was just a scared kid who wanted a better life. "Rose, it sounds to me as if you've already made up your mind in this matter. I'm not quite sure what you need my help with."

"I look at your life and the way people react to you. You're in a man's profession, and from the looks of it, your being a woman doesn't even seem to make a difference. Men regard you as an equal. They don't coddle you or treat you like some expensive showpiece. When they're having a conversation, they don't overlook you; they ask you your opinion, and when you give it, they don't dismiss it because you're a woman. Now, I know that I can be naïve at times, but I'm aware enough to realize that it can't all have been easy for you."

"You're right."

"Ms. Larence, I seek your opinion and your advice. You lead an unconventional life for a woman. What did your family say when you told them that you wanted to pursue a career instead of marriage? Do you think I'm being foolish? Maybe I'm making the biggest mistake of my life, but it feels so right. Should I trust my feelings like that, so blindly?"

Brynne stood and walked over to her window. She turned to Rose again, who was now standing in front of the sofa. "Rose, you should never blindly dismiss what feels right," she said. "It is your life, after all, and you're the one who has to live it. You have to do what's going to make you happy. So, how my parents responded to my life choices is actually irrelevant when you look at it with that sort of attitude." Brynne paused and sighed. Her parents had actually been thrilled when she'd told them of her intentions to enter architecture school. But her parents were 21st century parents, and 21st century parents were very different from the parents most commonly found in1912.

"That being said," Brynne continued, "you do have to temper your feelings with your brain sometimes. There are plenty of things that we want in life but we're not supposed to have them. Everything that's good to you isn't always good for you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Rose nodded. "I think so."

Brynne returned to the sofa. "I'm glad that you've found someone that you can truly be happy with. You're so lucky, because there are a lot of people who never find that. I just hope that you're prepared for the life that you're about to step off of this ship into when we dock. It won't be easy, Rose. It's a world that's vastly different from the one you know. There are no valets, no maids or servants. Sometimes there won't be a bed or a house or food even."

Rose's posture straightened, and she looked Brynne squarely in the eye to convey that she thought she was prepared for anything life with Jack might throw at her. "I'm aware of that," she said.

"Good. If you know about the hardships you'll face with this new life, and you still want to do it, my advice is to go for it. Love doesn't always knock twice."

Rose smiled, cheerfully reassured that her decision to leave Cal for Jack was the right one for her.

Brynne couldn't honestly dole out advice like that without at least considering it for her own situation. She couldn't be certain that what she had with Jeremy was budding love, actually; then again, she couldn't be certain that it wasn't. She had known him for a year, after all, and had come to care for him. In the past, he had toyed with the idea of what a romantic relationship with him might be like, but she had never seriously entertained the possibility until they'd boarded Titanic.

Brynne didn't know what to think about her increasingly awkward relationship with Jeremy. She knew that she enjoyed the time she spent with him. She knew that he was a talented architect and designer. She knew he had a nice body, which she wanted to let her hands run wild over, and that his kiss had momentarily robbed her of her senses.

Rose had only known Jack for a few days, and she was ready to give up a life of privilege for a one of probable poverty and guaranteed love. Brynne had known Jeremy for a year. What would she be giving up if she chose him, even if it were only for one night?


	11. Now

Chapter 11 – Now

Brynne stood outside Jeremy's door, scrutinizing the actions she was about to take. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but then lowered it and turned on her heel to walk away. This was crazy. She couldn't do this. She took a few steps … but stopped and turned back to the door.

Why couldn't she do this? There wasn't a good reason. Carmen had warned her to stay away from Jeremy, but that was before everything went wrong. Tomorrow would be the last day, so Carmen couldn't relieve her of duty for too long. Besides, the Titanic hadn't sunk, and the notebook was at the bottom of the Atlantic somewhere. What else did she have to lose? She returned to the door.

But she couldn't do this. Not after she'd been so cold toward him. He'd probably think she was crazy, or that she was toying with his emotions. And he had every good reason to. She was running hot and cold on him. She turned away from the door again. No, she decided. She didn't need to do this.

The door opened before she could even take one step away.

"Brynne," Jeremy said. He was still wearing his dinner shirt and slacks, though the tie and jacket were gone.

"Hi," Brynne said. She and Jeremy stared awkwardly at each other for a few moments. "I'm sorry I missed you at dinner tonight. I was still feeling a little under the weather, so I decided to have it in my room tonight."

"No, it's all right," Jeremy said. "I ate with Mr. Andrews and Dr. O'Loughlin."

"Oh, good. I'm glad that you didn't have to eat alone."

"Yeah."

A lull followed. Someone walked past Brynne.

"Is there something I can help you with, Brynne?" Jeremy asked finally.

This was it, Brynne decided. Either she was going to do what she came here to do, or she was going to turn around and go back to her own stateroom. "Would you mind if I came in?" Brynne asked.

Jeremy stepped aside, and Brynne walked into his room. In her mind, there was no turning back, now.

Jeremy closed the door. "I know it isn't exactly first class, but it's served me well," he said, referring to the room.

Brynne looked around the room. It wasn't much to look at, but she mostly did it to avoid making eye contact with Jeremy. "You know what they say about Titanic - a second-class berth on this ship is like a first-class berth on any other."

"Very true. It could do with a window, though," Jeremy said.

Brynne turned away from Jeremy and set her little handbag down on the small writing table beside the bed. "Mr. Andrews told me about what happened last night," Jeremy said. Brynne turned to him, with a questioning gaze. Her eyes finally met his. "On the poop deck," Jeremy clarified. "He also told me the other version, the one with the stairwell."

"That one's just for appearances sake," Brynne said.

"I know," Jeremy said. "You don't have any idea who the guy was?"

Brynne shook her head. "I've never seen him before in my life."

"Never? That fellow must have been looney." He hesitated before taking a few steps toward her. "I can't believe it's almost over. I didn't expect it to go by so fast."

"It seems like it's lasted longer than I expected," Brynne said. "I expected a few days at sea to pass very quickly."

Jeremy shook his head. "I wasn't talking about the trip. I meant the past year. I thought for sure that it would feel like forever."

Brynne lowered her eyes and offered a small, apologetic smile. "I suppose I didn't make it easy for you most of the time." She raised her eyes to Jeremy again.

Jeremy chuckled. "No. But contrary to popular belief, I didn't mind. I wasn't a walk in the park either, mind you."

Brynne grinned and walked over to him. "No. But contrary to popular belief, I didn't mind." At Jeremy's skeptical look, she recanted, "Okay, maybe I did a little."

The conversation stalled again. But it wasn't the kind of uncomfortable lull where someone was clawing for a topic. This was the type of lull where something was going the happen if someone didn't say something soon.

"Brynne, what are you doing here?" Jeremy asked quietly. "We've been in this situation before, remember, and you said it was a mistake."

"Did you agree with me then?" Brynne asked.

Jeremy shook his head. "No."

"I don't know how this thing between us developed," Brynne said. "It seems like it just sprung up over the course of this trip, though I'm sure it's been brewing for much longer than that. I suspect that before this trip, we'd been so focused on the work that we didn't have time to give much thought to our feelings."

Jeremy responded with a kiss, directly on her lips. To his surprise, she pulled away. He looked down at her, once again confused.

"I just want to let you know that I can't make any promises about the future," Brynne said.

"No one can."

Brynne shook her head. "I know that. I meant … "

"I know what you meant," Jeremy said, interrupting her. "But it doesn't matter, really. This ship could sink tonight, and we could both die. All we have is right now … and that's all I want."

Brynne let Jeremy's warmth wash over her and fill her, and she melted into him.


	12. Biting Off More Than You Can Chew

Chapter 12 – Biting Off More Than You Can Chew

The press lined New York pier, photographers jockeying for position so that they could get the best shot of Titanic. People huddled under a landscape of endless umbrellas, and lines of cars waited for affluent passengers to disembark. One of those cars waited to take Brynne to the Waldorf-Astoria. The night of Tuesday, April 17th would have been perfect, had the rain not been falling in steady, heavy sheets.

Brynne couldn't understand how it had come to this. What had changed? Had her very presence on the Titanic somehow altered _everything_? If so, how? COSI had researched everything. Her presence alone shouldn't have caused the ship to survive. She hadn't changed anything pivotal. What the hell had gone wrong – or right, rather?

When her stateroom door opened, Brynne turned away from the window. She'd been watching the rain outside come down in droves, and now Carmen entered, wearing her overcoat and hat in lieu of the maid's uniform.

"Are you ready to go?" Carmen asked.

Brynne nodded. "Ready."

Stewards entered and began to roll Brynne's luggage out of the room.

"There's a car waiting to take us to the hotel," Carmen said once the stewards had left the room. "Room 515. I have to get there as soon as possible because my signature is only about an hour from now, so I'll be leaving before you. This whole reality is wrong, so I'm not worried about you causing any trouble after I'm gone."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Brynne said, rolling her eyes.

The stewards re-entered the stateroom to retrieve the last of Brynne's luggage. Carmen followed them out. Brynne, clutching the notebook to her chest, was the last to leave the room. Her eyes slowly swept the area one last time. All she could think about was how it was a room that wasn't even supposed to exist anymore.

Once Brynne finally stepped out of the stateroom, Andrews appeared from around the corner, walking her way.

"Mr. Andrews," Brynne said. "Good evening."

"And a wet one, too, from the looks of it," Andrews said. He noted her traveling attire. "Are you looking to spend a little time ashore city while the ship is docked?"

Brynne winced internally. She hadn't told Andrews about her plans not to return to Britain because she figured she wouldn't need to. He was supposed to be dead, and what happened to her was supposed to be irrelevant. "Yes, sir," she said. "Well, the truth of it is that I'm not going back to Harland and Wolff with the rest of the team.

"Did you want to spend a few extra days here and come back on another ship, or on a later crossing of the Titanic?" Andrews asked. "It can be arranged. I know you and Jeremy have both worked quite hard; you deserve a break."

"No, sir, that's not what I mean," Brynne said. "I mean that I won't be going back to Britain at all. I'm staying here in the States."

"What? But why?" Andrews asked. "I've worked you too much, haven't I?"

"Oh, no, not at all Mr. Andrews," Brynne said, struggling to find the right words. He already looked so hurt she didn't want to make him feel even worse. "I've had such an enriching experience working with you and Jeremy that I'm hesitant to even consider it to be work. The fact of the matter is I received a telegram from my home office. They need me back there as soon as possible."

"Of course I can't blame them for wanting you back," Andrews said. "You've certainly made me proud to have had you along, even if it has been a relatively short period of time. Will you at least come back and visit us?"

Brynne looked at Andrews for a moment without responding. He was one of the nicest people she'd ever met, in any century, and she hated the prospect of telling him that she would never be able to see him again, ever. He might think he was the reason she was leaving. "I can't make any promises, Mr. Andrews. My position at the firm keeps me very busy."

"I understand."

"I'll try," Brynne vowed.

Andrews nodded, a broad smile forming across his face. He extended his hand to her, and she grasped it firmly. "Best of luck to you, Brynne."

"Thank you, Mr. Andrews," Brynne said, shaking hands with him. "And to you, as well."

Andrews walked away from her. As Brynne watched him go, all she could think about was how he wasn't supposed to be alive.

She continued on to the first-class exit. Before she stepped onto the gangway, she paused and thought of Jeremy. She hadn't seen him at all this morning, not since she'd left him before dawn. She hadn't even left him a note. No doubt, he'd woken up confused to find her gone after such a passion-filled night together. But this was for the best, it really was. He wouldn't understand, of course, because she had no way of explaining it to him.

With a deep breath, she began to walk down the gangway to the dock, and she filed him, her memory of him, away as part of her past. It was time to move on.

When Jeremy reached Brynne's stateroom, he found the door open and the interior empty. He stepped into the hallway just as a stewardess approached, intending to enter.

"Excuse me," Jeremy said, intercepting her, "can you tell me where Ms. Larence is?"

"She's already disembarked, sir," the stewardess replied.

"Are you quite certain?"

"Yes, Mr. Bratt. I helped transport her bags to the first-class terminal myself."

Jeremy nodded and gave a hasty thanks as he began to sprint to the first-class gangway. When he reached the exit, he stood at the gangway, peering out, trying to see if he could spot Brynne. It was no use. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the only thing visible to Jeremy was a sea of umbrellas.

Jeremy slowly descended the gangway, trying to figure out what he should do next. He knew Brynne would remain in the States, but how long would she be in New York? There could be a train waiting to take her to D.C. at this very moment, and she could be on her way to meet it. Or maybe she would be in town for a day or two. Even if she were staying in New York, where would she be staying? There was no way of knowing any of this. Dejected, Jeremy stood at the foot of the gangway. He didn't care that the rain pelted him and soaked him through.

"Mr. Bratt?"

Jeremy turned at the sound of his name. All he could see was a woman's form coming down the gangway toward him, her face hidden beneath an umbrella. Finally, she reached him and lifted the umbrella a bit so that he could see her read curls and sparkling green eyes.

"Rose," Jeremy greeted. "How are you?"

"Wonderful," Rose replied. "And yourself?"

"I would be doing as well as you if I could find Ms. Larence," Jeremy said. "I think she's already left the pier, and I don't know what hotel she's staying in while she's in New York."

"She's at the Waldorf-Astoria," Rose replied. "We had a talk the other night, and she told me herself."

Jeremy, completely shocked and grateful, looked at Rose. "Thank you, Rose. Thank you so very much." Jeremy hurried away from the gangway in search of a taxi. Rose walked away from the gangway and found Jack standing a few feet away waiting for her.

/\/\/\

After navigating through the throngs at the pier, Brynne's taxi eventually arrived at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel, where Brynne made a hasty transition from the cab to the hotel reception desk.

"May I help you, Miss?" the receptionist asked.

"I have a reservation for room 515," Brynne replied.

"Could I have your name, please?"

"Brynne Larence."

The receptionist looked down at the register on his desk. "Ah, yes – your lady arrived earlier with your luggage," he said, handing a key to Brynne.

"Thank you," Brynne said. The receptionist turned to the next waiting guest, and Brynne turned to leave.

"What took you so long?"

The voice came from behind Brynne. She turned and saw a man standing and reading a paper with his back to her.

"I beg your pardon," Brynne said to the man.

The man lowered his newspaper and turned to Brynne. "I said, what took you so long?"

Brynne's eyes went wide because Jeremy Bratt was standing in front of her. "Your lady has been here for quite some time already," Jeremy said.

"What are you doing here?" Brynne asked. "Aren't you supposed to be onboard the ship?"

"I know, but I couldn't let you go without saying goodbye. I had to see you again."

Brynne shook her head. "Jeremy, I don't know if this is such a good idea. I'm leaving tonight."

"Tonight? If you're leaving so soon, why did you need a room?" Jeremy questioned.

"I don't have time to explain it all," Brynne said. "Even if I did, you would never believe it." She began to walk quickly, trying to get away before Jeremy could say anything else. But he followed her.

"I would," Jeremy promised, keeping pace with Brynne. "Just give it a chance. Give _me_ a chance. Please, Brynne."

"Please, Jeremy – go back to the ship." Tears welled up in Brynne's eyes. "It will be better that way. You'll see."

They reached the elevator. An operator waited there with an open car. Witnessing the interaction between Brynne and Jeremy and seeing Brynne's distraught state, the operator, a young man in his late teens, eyed Jeremy suspiciously.

"Are you alright, Miss?" the operator asked Brynne.

"I'm fine," Brynne responded, stepping into the waiting lift.

The operator strategically positioned himself between Brynne and Jeremy as he asked, "Are you sure? Is he giving you trouble, Miss?"

Brynne looked at Jeremy, agonizing over what course of action. She could tell the operator that, yes, Jeremy was bothering her. He would then have him promptly ejected from the hotel, and Brynne would never see him again. That's what she should have done. But it isn't what she actually did.

"No, he isn't," Brynne finally said, answering the lift operator. "He's … a friend. We're going to take tea in my room."

The operator looked from Brynne to Jeremy. He still didn't feel completely at ease about allowing Jeremy into the lift, but if the lady insisted that all was well, he couldn't argue with her. He stepped aside, allowing Jeremy entry into the elevator car.

xxx

When Jeremy and Brynne reached room 515, they found Brynne's luggage there waiting, as promised by the receptionist. But Carmen was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's your lady?" Jeremy asked.

"She must have gone ahead to make sure the transportation arrangements are in order," Brynne lied.

"Oh." Jeremy closed the door behind them. "What time does your train leave?"

"I'm not taking a train," Brynne answered promptly.

"Surely you're not driving all the way back to D.C.?" Jeremy said.

Brynne shook her head. "No."

"I don't understand."

"I know. Jeremy, there's a lot that you don't know."

"About you?" Jeremy asked.

"About me, about my job, about everything. I could never explain it to you."

"You keep saying that," Jeremy said, incredibly frustrated.

"Because it's true."

"Well, you can at least try."

Brynne shook her head. "No. You would have to see for yourself, and that isn't possible."

"Why not?" Brynne didn't answer. Jeremy pressed even further. "Why can't you show me?"

"I just can't." Brynne looked at the clock on the wall. Her time was running out.

Jeremy stepped in front of Brynne and gently put his hands on her arms. "Brynne – show me," he pleaded.

Brynne looked into Jeremy's eyes. They were the eyes of a desperate man, willing to do anything, _believe anything_, if it meant a chance to keep Brynne in his life.

Brynne took Jeremy's hand and led him to the wardrobe across the room. She pulled the closet door open. The clothes hanging in side were a collection of 21st-century clothing that Carmen had unpacked for Brynne, in case she wanted to change before returning home. There was no time for that now, though. Brynne pushed the clothing aside.

"What are you doing?" Jeremy asked.

"Jeremy, I'm not the person you think I am," Brynne replied. She pushed the sleeve back on her left wrist, exposing her wristwatch. She activated the link, and light engulfed both her and Jeremy. Brynne turned to Jeremy and took his hand again. Then she led him into the light.

xxx

Rose knocked on the door to room 515 at the Waldorf-Astoria, but there was no answer.

"To whom are you offering your services now?"

Rose whirled around to find Cal standing behind her. "I don't think it's any of your business who I'm coming to visit," she told him icily.

"Rose, I'm willing to forgive you of everything you've done over the past week. I'm willing to forget that it ever happened," Cal said.

"You just don't understand, do you?" Rose said. "I don't want to be with you, Cal. I don't know how much more plainly I can put it."

"You say that now, standing there in your expensive dress inside one of the world's premier hotels," Cal said with a cold sneer, "but will you still feel the same when you're cold and hungry in some festering alley?"

Rose turned away from Cal, his words failing to shake her, and knocked on the door again. Cal was about to leave Rose to what he was sure would be her miserable life, but something caught his eye. A peculiar light seeped through the small space between the floor and the bottom of the door. Cal reached around Rose and twisted the doorknob. The door to the room eased open.

"Cal!" Rose scolded.

But Cal was already inside the room, moving toward the oddly lit wardrobe.

"Cal, don't!" Rose said.

"What is this?" Cal managed. He walked toward the closet. "I've never seen anything like it before." He stood directly in front of the open wardrobe now.

Rose followed him into the room. "Cal, Ms. Larence isn't here," she said. "We shouldn't intrude like this."

Cal ignored her. He was too busy searching for the light source. But he could find none. He stepped into the wardrobe, sweeping his hand around, trying to find the light bulb or a switch or something, but there was nothing to find. He couldn't even find the back wall of the wardrobe, which truly puzzled him. He thought he would come to it eventually. He had to, and then, he reasoned, he would be able to locate this elusive light bulb. He had to. So, he kept stepping further and further into the closet until Rose, now standing at the open doors of the wardrobe, could no longer see him.

"Cal?" she called out. There was no answer. "Cal?"

Rose stepped into the closet. This was ridiculous, she thought. Cal had to be somewhere in there. A closet could only be so big. It had to end somewhere, and Cal couldn't have simply disappeared into thin air. Yet, here she was, already several feet into the closet, and she saw neither an end to it nor Cal. She also realized that the light now completely surrounded her. She looked over her shoulder. She could not even see the closet doors anymore.

What was going on?

xxx

Brynne and Jeremy stepped out of the closet and into Brynne's 21st-century bedroom in Washington, D.C. As promised, Drew Bell was there, waiting for her return. His face clearly registered surprise at Jeremy's presence.

Jeremy looked around the room, completely disoriented. "Where are we?"

"This is my bedroom," Brynne said. "In my apartment."

"Brynne, what's going on?" Bell asked, alarm rising in his voice.

Brynne looked at Bell. "Drew, this is Mr. Jeremy Bratt," she began to say calmly. "Jeremy, I'd like you to meet Agent Drew Bell."

Bell and Jeremy shook hands warily. "Nice to know you," Bell said.

"Agent?" Jeremy said. "Like a travel agent?"

Bell shrugged uncomfortably. "You could say that."

"Drew," Brynne began again, "Jeremy is an architect. Like me. He's been working with Harland and Wolff for the past two years, helping design the Titanic and the Olympic."

Bell didn't want her to say those words. He'd been afraid that she would say those words, but he'd hoped that they wouldn't come out of her mouth.

He shook his head. "No, Brynne. You didn't."

"This probably isn't as bad as it seems," Brynne said.

"Yes, it is!" Bell exploded. "How did you get him into a lifeboat?"

"Lifeboat?" Jeremy repeated.

"He didn't get into a boat," Brynne said. "No one did."

"I'm not quite understanding," Bell said.

"There wasn't any need for lifeboats," Brynne said. "The Titanic didn't sink."

Bell just stared at Brynne, speechless. Then, "What?"

Jeremy's eyebrows furrowed. "Sink? She docked in New York only a few hours ago."

"Brynne, what the hell happened?" Bell asked. "You went back for one thing, _one little thing_, and you end up changing something this big? How does that happen?"

"I don't know. I did everything by the book, Drew, I swear."

"Yeah, except bringing someone back," Bell said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing a number. "I'm pretty sure the rulebook covers that one."

He placed the phone to his ear. "Payton? This is Bell. We've run into a little problem."

The three of them looked at the closet as the link activated again. Bell looked to Brynne, who shook her head, equally confused.

"I didn't activate it," she said.

They all watched the closet expectedly. Caledon Hockley emerged from the light, followed by Rose DeWitt Bukater.

Payton was still on the line, but he was going crazy trying to figure out what's going on because Bell had suddenly gone quiet. _"Bell? Bell, what's going on? Bell?"_

Bell swallowed, his tongue and throat having taken on the consistency of sand paper. "Payton," he said, "I think our little problem just got a whole lot bigger."


	13. Missing

Chapter 13

Chapter 13 - Missing

Brynne looked up at Payton, as he crossed back and forth in front of her, pacing. His face left no mysteries as to what he felt. He was pissed.

"What were you _thinking_?!" Payton asked Brynne.

"I don't know," Brynne replied. "It was just this spontaneous thing."

"Really?" Payton asked. "Well, this 'spontaneous thing' just created a very grave problem. Check that – it just created _three_ very grave problems. And on top of that, you didn't even fix the minor problem you were supposed to fix in the first place!"

"What's all this talk about problems?" Hockley asked, stepping into the conversation. "I want to know what's going on. I demand an explanation immediately."

Payton looked to Bell, conveying a silent cue, which the latter promptly picked up on.

Bell turned to Cal, Rose, and Jeremy. "It's been an eventful evening for all of you, I'm sure," Bell began. "Mr. Bratt, I'm sure you and your companions could use some refreshment."

Jeremy, disconcerted, looked to Brynne as he responded, and she wilted a little inside because she knew the truth, and she knew he would know the truth very soon, and it wouldn't be good. "I can't speak for Mr. Hockley or Ms. DeWitt-Bukater, but I sure could use … _something._ This experience has thrown me for quite a loop." His eyes left her as he left the room. Rose, Cal, and Bell followed.

"Why, Brynne?" Payton asked once the others were out of the room and out of earshot. He sat down beside Brynne on the bed.

"I don't think you would understand," Brynne said.

"No, I think I do, which is exactly why we warn you rookies about this kind of stuff in training," Payton countered. "You didn't actually think that we could keep them here, did you?"

"For the record, I didn't actually _bring_ Cal and Rose here," Brynne said. "They came through of their own volition."

"It doesn't matter how they got here. What matters is that they're here, and that we need to get the back to where they belong."

Payton's cell phone rang. Before the first ring was done, the flip phone was open and pressed against Payton's ear. "What is it?" he asked.

Bell re-entered the room. Brynne stood and met him at the door. "What did you give them?" she asked.

"I didn't have many options," Bell said. "It's pretty bare in there."

"Yeah, I know," Brynne said. "I don't get to make groceries that often."

"I found a few cans of soda. I think Jeremy would have preferred something a little stronger, though. Did you tell him anything before today?"

"What do you mean? About me?"

"Yeah. You didn't mention anything to him, did you? While you were on the ship, or while you were working together?"

"Damn!" Payton cursed.

Bell and Brynne turned to Payton. The boss man began barking orders into the phone. "I want every available tech and repair person on this. Get those links back up." He snapped the phone shut.

"What is it?" Brynne asked.

"There's a problem with the links," Payton revealed. "They're going out all over."

"How long will it take to get them back up again?" Brynne asked.

Payton shook his head. "I don't know. I put everyone we can spare on it. Just what I need – another problem."

"What are we going to do with our guests?" Bell asked.

"They can stay with me," Brynne offered.

"You're already too involved," Payton said, immediately dismissing the idea. "You're the reason they're here in the first place. Why on Earth would I leave them with you?"

"Where else are you going to keep them?" Brynne asked. "It's going to be chaos at headquarters until we get those links back up. They'd just be in the way there."

Payton looked at Brynne skeptically. Brynne persisted. "If you're worried about the timeline, don't be. The signatures, remember? They won't remember this. They can't possibly do any harm while they're here or when they return – can they?"

"Actually, they can, but the chances of that happening are very slim." Payton sighed. "Something tells me I'm gonna regret this. I will call you the minute we get the links back up. I would advise against taking them out in public."

"How do we avoid that? You heard Bell – I barely have anything to eat in there. I don't know if I want to leave them here, and I have to go get groceries."

"I'll have them delivered," Payton offered. "Whatever you need, we'll come to you. Just call."

"Fine then. You can start with groceries, like you said. I'll need bread, fruits, juice," Brynne said, ticking off her list on her fingers. She stopped and looked at Payton. "Are you going to write any of this down?"

He picked up the pad and pen on the dresser and began to scribble as Brynne continued with her list.

--

"That's utter nonsense!" Caledon Hockley shouted.

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but you tell me if you have any other explanation," Brynne dared. She'd abandoned her 1912 clothing for 21st century clothing, though after wearing nothing but corsets and long dresses for a year, wearing clothing that actually took the wearer's comfort into account felt awkward. Sitting in the chair next to sofa, she squirmed in her t-shirt and jeans.

"It's impossible," Cal insisted, pacing behind the sofa where Rose sat. Jeremy stood alone at the window, gazing intensely out at D.C.

"Ms. Larence, it does seem to be a bit far fetched. You have to admit that," Rose said. "Place yourself in our position."

"I have," Brynne said. "I was in your position when I moved into this apartment. I couldn't believe my ears, but the evidence was there, staring me in the face."

Cal stopped directly in front of Brynne. "You expect me to believe that because we walked through a wardrobe with a trick door of some sort, we traveled nearly a century into 'the future', as you call it?" he asked, his words drenched with sarcasm.

Brynne stood and stared at him steadily as she answered. "I don't care if you believe it or not, Mr. Hockley, but the fact of the matter is that it's true."

Neither Cal nor Rose could refute what Brynne had told them because they couldn't offer a better explanation at the moment.

Brynne turned to Jeremy. He hadn't said anything at all since she'd revealed the truth about where they were. And he hadn't spoken to her since Payton had left over two hours before.

"Jeremy?" Brynne said, cautiously approaching him.

He didn't respond right away. He lowered his eyes to the floor and avoided looking directly at Brynne. "Forgive me if I don't … " he began. "This is all a little difficult to take in."

"I know." Brynne felt like she shouldn't just leave it at that, but she didn't know what else to say to him.

"Will we be able to get back?" Jeremy asked.

"Yes," Brynne replied. "Eventually. Right now, the links – that's how you got here – they're malfunctioning. Well, if I understand it correctly, they aren't functioning at all."

"How long will it take to repair them?" Cal asked.

"I don't know. I told Payton that you could all stay with me while we wait. If you want to."

"Thank you for your kindness and generosity, Ms. Larence," Rose said, accepting the invitation on behalf of the group.

"I'm the one who got you all into this mess, anyway."

"Yes," Cal said. "You did, didn't you?"

"Cal," Rose said in a tone of warning.

The apartment door opened, and Payton entered with bags of groceries. Bell followed him inside, also carrying bags. They deposited the bags on the kitchen counter and the table.

"I found everything on your list," Payton said. "Except the pulpy orange juice, so I had to get the kind without pulp."

Brynne walked over to the kitchen. "That's fine," she said. "It's not that big of a deal." She began removing products from the bags. "They had everything else?"

Payton nodded. "Yeah." He looked her over, noting her change in appearance and attire. "I see you didn't waste anytime settling back in."

--

Dawn was only a few hours away, and Brynne was wide-awake on the couch. It wasn't that her sofa was uncomfortable. On the contrary, she had often fallen asleep on it pretty quickly on many occasions at her old apartment. But she'd never been in a situation like this when she was at her old apartment. She'd never had three people from 1912 sleeping in bedrooms only a few feet away from her.

She sat in her pajamas, blankets and pillows scattered around her. Damn, what had she gotten herself into? It seemed to her that she'd been asking herself that same question everyday since Moocher wandered into the closet and activated that link.

Brynne stood. She didn't want to start pacing, but she felt herself leaning in that direction. She would much rather have turned on the t.v., so that it could lull her to sleep, but she didn't want to wake her slumbering guests, whom she knew weren't used to the background noise of a television.

"What's wrong? Is the sofa uncomfortable?" Jeremy stood at the edge of the hallway. He was barefoot and had discarded everything except his slacks and dress shirt, which was open from his collar down to his chest. His hair, normally impeccably styled, was disheveled, as if he'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to sleep.

Brynne, mildly startled, turned to him. "The sofa isn't the problem," Brynne replied. "What about you – is something wrong with the bed?"

"Yes – Cal Hockley is sleeping right next to me."

"Is it really that big of a problem?"

"It is when he snores like a wild beast."

Both of them chuckled at the thought. Then, they stared at each other for a few uncertain moments. "I'm sorry," Brynne said.

"Me, too," Jeremy said.

"Why are you sorry?" Brynne asked, as he walked past her on the way to the window. "You didn't do anything."

"I know," Jeremy said. "I'm sorry because I thought we had something special, and now it's gone. I can't even be sure that it even existed."

"No, it did. That's the honest-to-God truth."

"How can I believe that?" Jeremy asked. He looked at the view of D.C. from Brynne's apartment. He'd never seen anything like it before. "Everything I thought I knew about you was a lie," he said. "You used me and manipulated me, Brynne, to reach your own little goal. You can't just go bouncing around time, playing with people's lives like they're part of some game."

"That isn't the way it is, Jeremy," Brynne said. She wished that he would at least look at her.

"I don't like the idea of being part of anyone's mission or experiment or whatever it is you want to call it."

Brynne walked over to him. "Okay, I admit that I lied to you. I lied to everyone. And I used my position to get what I needed. But the friendships I made while I was there, the special friendships, were real. There was nothing fake about them."

"I honestly don't know how to believe you anymore." Jeremy turned to Brynne with a look so piercing that it shot to the core of her soul.

"It's easy," Brynne said quietly. "All you have to do is make up your mind and do it."

That's just what Jeremy wanted to do. He wanted to so badly. But it was much easier said than done.

--

Through some miracle, Brynne did finally get to sleep, and she woke up around 7:30 that morning. Her immediate thoughts concerned why she had woken up on the sofa. She sat up, momentarily confused. Then, her eyes landed on the Titanic book on the coffee table, and it all came slamming back to her. She'd gotten so used to sleeping in 1912 that waking up in the 21st century had temporarily thrown her for a loop. After all, she had spent a year in the past, and last night had only been her first in her own time since she'd been back. She stood and walked to the kitchen. What would they have for breakfast?

It was on the way to the kitchen that Brynne noticed that the deadbolt on the apartment door was in the unlocked position, which she found odd, because she knew that she always checked the door before going to bed. At least, she used to before living in 1912 for a year. She thought she'd locked it the night before, but it was possible that she'd fallen out of the habit, as the necessity of performing the nightly ritual had lost its significance in a time when people rarely even locked their doors at night.

Not really expecting to find any explanations outside, Brynne walked over, opened the door, and peered out into the hallway. She looked up and down the hall. No one was there. She closed the door and locked it, still pondering the curiously unlocked door. As almost an afterthought, she thought that perhaps Rose, Cal, or Jeremy had stepped out earlier and had neglected to lock the door when they'd returned.

Why would they need to step out? Where would they go?

Had they come back, yet?

Brynne instantly arrived at a state of near-panic. She went to the master bedroom and gently knocked on the door. After a moment's delay, a voice called from inside. Brynne quickly moved to the guest bedroom and repeated the action, but this time, no sound greeted her from inside the room.

She knocked again. It was possible that they were only asleep. After a third round of knocks, there was still no answer. Brynne pushed the door open. Then she panicked.

Rose appeared behind Brynne in the bedroom doorway. "Did you just knock on my door?" she asked. "I thought I heard a knock."

Brynne didn't answer. She just stared at the empty room before them. She stepped inside. There was no sign of Cal or Jeremy. Their clothes were gone. Even the bed was made.

Rose followed her into the room. "Where did they go?" she asked.

Brynne shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "Out, I suppose." She turned to Rose. "Have you seen them?"

"I haven't seen them since last night, at dinner," Rose said.

Brynne closed her eyes. Could this mission be anymore screwed up?

But there wasn't any time for dwelling on the negative now. Brynne had to find Cal and Jeremy.

"What are we going to do?" Rose asked.

Brynne looked at her. _We_? She smiled to herself. This girl was all right. She wasn't like those other delicate flowers from her time. She was ready to get right down into the gritty with Brynne. "We're going to find them," she answered.


	14. The Bigger They Are, the Harder They Fal

Chapter 14

Chapter 14 – The Bigger They Are, the Harder They Fall

The moment Jeremy had set foot outside Brynne's apartment with Cal, he'd regretted it. They didn't know what they were walking into. Both of them had been to Washington, D.C. before, yes – but that was the D.C. of 1912, which was now history, over 90 years having passed. Jeremy had an uneasy feeling about it, but he didn't voice any concerns to Cal until they were out on the street and caught a glimpse of what they were getting themselves into. The sheer noise of unfamiliar 21st-century street sounds assailed them first, but the sight of all the cars startled them the most.

Jeremy watched a blue automobile unlike any he'd ever seen zoom past the on the street. "I think that things may have changed a bit more than we suspected," he said.

People hurried along the sidewalk exhibiting the most curious behavior and clothing. Jeremy and Cal's first instinct was that they must be in a poor section of the city, for no one was dressed as a proper lady or gentleman. Some men wore suits. Some wore hats, but they were significantly different from what a 1912 gentleman would sport. And the women were completely inappropriate. Not even the boldest prostitutes of 1912 would wear what these 21st-century women wore. Many of them wore pants. Those who wore dresses wore them so short that at least half the leg, if not more, showed. None of them wore coverings for their heads, and many traveled unaccompanied by male escorts.

"Perhaps," Cal said, responding to Jeremy's stated observation. Hockley looked around at their environment, momentarily unsure of everything. But he tried to convince Jeremy (and himself) that they were taking the right course of action. "But we shouldn't let ourselves get too caught up in the details of our situation. We must keep the facts of the situation in mind, and the fact is that it is possible for us to exist and even thrive in this new time period in which we find ourselves."

Cal's words did nothing but confuse Jeremy. "Thrive? What are you talking about? We're not staying here. The words you heard Ms. Larence speak are the very same that I heard. We are going back to 1912. It's just a question of when."

"Exactly. We have no idea how long we'll be here, but while we are, we are going to make the best of it." Cal raised a perfect brow. "At least _I_ am, anyway. Whether or not you are is up to you. Are you? Are you going to take advantage of a golden opportunity of a lifetime? Or will you turn on your heels and run back up to that apartment to await your return to the same old life that you know is waiting for you?"

"We don't know anything about this time," Jeremy said.

"Details, Mr. Bratt. Those are mere details that I'm sure we could easily resolve. Let us look at it this way: if Ms. Larence could so easily infiltrate our own period and live for a lengthy period, surely, we should be capable of accomplishing a similar feat."

"Your logic is flawed, Mr. Hockley. It's true that Ms. Larence traveled to our time and lived among us undetected for so long, however she also had the advantage of knowing what she was getting herself into. Our time was history to her. We don't have that advantage. We don't know what we'll find in this time, in this city, or even around this street corner here."

Hockley brushed aside Bratt's concerns. "Relax, Mr. Bratt. I think you're overreacting. If Ms. Larence was able to come to our time, things could not have changed all that much. Yes, the automobiles are faster, apparently, and there are more of them, but that's one, relatively minor detail in the grand scheme of things. Don't miss the opportunity of a lifetime, Mr. Bratt. Don't miss the chance to change your life."

To Jeremy, Cal was on the verge of sounding like a madman who was about to start raving about destiny. But his words were tempting, and they had Jeremy's attention. "Judging from your words, I presume that you have a plan?" Jeremy said.

Cal and Jeremy began to stroll the sidewalk, witnessing more odd behavior. People walked around with strings sticking out of their ears. While passing these people, Jeremy discovered that the strings were attached to earplugs that fit into the ear. He surmised that the plugs must be for the purpose of drowning out all the noise, and the strings must keep the owner from losing the plugs. _Interesting innovation_, Jeremy thought.

The next peculiarity that Jeremy noticed was more puzzling, and Jeremy was unable to explain this one. Many people held devices to their ears while they walked and spoke into them.

"Surviving in this century won't be nearly as difficult as you think, Mr. Bratt, if we can judge the rest of the population from this bunch here on the sidewalk," Cal said, noting the people chattering away on the little devices. "These people must be deranged."

"Earlier, you spoke of an rare opportunity?" Jeremy said, turning the tide of the conversation back to more important matters.

"Mr. Bratt – think about this for a moment. We have a golden opportunity to make money."

Money? That's what he was talking about? "What?" Jeremy said.

"Don't you see? I know we won't be here forever; that's exactly why this plan works. This plan depends upon our returning to 1912. Right now, right here, we know the future – we know what it looks like. It's an unbelievable opportunity, I can't believe you don't see it. We've got the advantage over anyone in 1912. We have access to nearly a century of technological marvels and information, particularly, stock market information. When we return to 1912 with that kind of knowledge, we can rule the world, or come pretty close, anyway." The two men stopped walking. Cal stepped in close to Jeremy. "Don't you want to be rich, Bratt? I can tell you from personal experience that nothing comes close to the feeling you get from knowing that you can buy anything … or anyone. You won't have to slave for Andrews or Harland and Wolff or anyone else ever again."

Jeremy studied Cal skeptically but with a measure of consideration. "I'm not saying that I want to join you in this, but let's say that I do, hypothetically. How would you go about pursuing this opportunity?"

Cal nodded, sensing that he had won Bratt over to his side. He savored the familiar essence of victory. "To get started, we'll need a newspaper. That's where we get our stock information and get an idea about what's going on in today's world." Cal looked up and down the street. "The only problem is that I haven't seen any newsboys about, and I haven't a clue about where else to get a paper."

He spotted a man in a business suit walking down the sidewalk toward them. "Excuse me, good sir, could you tell me where I might purchase a newspaper?"

The man looked at Cal curiously for a moment, eyeing the latter's outdated clothing. "Yeah, um, there's a stand a couple of blocks south of here."

Cal delivered a firm slap to the man's shoulder. "Good man." The man walked away, concluding that this encounter would definitely be his weird experience for the day. Cal turned back to Jeremy. "That was simple enough."

Jeremy and Cal covered the two blocks, observing all manner of strangeness as they walked. They found the stand exactly where the man had said it would be.

Cal stepped up to the counter. "I'd like one copy of today's paper."

"Which one?" the vendor asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Cal asked.

"Which one?" the vendor repeated. "We've got USA Today, the Post, the Times, the Wall Street Journal."

"The New York Times?" Cal asked.

"That's right."

"I'll take one of those."

The vendor placed the current issue of the New York Times on the counter. "That it?"

"Yes," Cal replied. He reached into his pocket preparing to fish out change to pay the vendor.

"That'll be 50 cents," the vendor said.

Cal's hand froze in his pocket. "50 cents? That's ridiculous. I only want to buy one copy."

"Look, mac, I don't know where you come from, especially in duds like that, but around here, 50 cents is the going rate for a paper. You're not gonna find a cheaper price, except for maybe some of the low-profile local papers."

"Well, where _I _come from, papers cost –"

Jeremy touched Cal gently on the arm, a silent warning. Cal looked at him, as if for the first time, he remembered that the other man was there. He refocused his attention on obtaining the newspaper. He reached into his pocket, pulled a dollar coin, and handed it to the vendor.

The vendor took it and studied it. "How about that? It isn't too often that people come through here paying with dollar coins." The fact that the coin was nearly 100 years old was completely lost on him. He handed Cal his change and the newspaper. "Have a nice day, mac."

Cal and Jeremy stepped away from the newsstand with the paper. Both looked at their acquisition curiously. It didn't look like any newspaper they'd ever seen before. The layout was completely different, and large color pictures screamed at them from the pages.

The first thing that caught Cal's attention was the photo of a black man above the fold. "They've made a mistake with this photograph. They have a Negro her labeled 'president of the United States'."

The two scanned the front page. There was an article about high fuel costs, one about war in some country called Iraq, and one about political elections.

A short article on the right side of the page, just below the fold, caught Jeremy's attention. "Look at this."

Cal looked at the article and read aloud, beginning with the headline. "_'Gigantic_ exhibition marks anniversary,'" he began. "'Monday, the exhibition of artifacts from the world's most famous maritime disaster marks the 95th anniversary of the sinking of the White Star Liner _Gigantic_." He looked at Jeremy, not quite sure what to say.

"Gigantic was supposed to be the name of the next Olympic-class liner," Jeremy said. "It's the third in the set of three."

"Ah, yes, I believe I remember seeing an advertisement featuring that name."

Jeremy scoured the little article. "Where is this exhibit?" His eyes finally found the answer at the end of the article. "The Capital City Convention Center." He looked at Cal. "We've got to get there."

--

"My goodness, does _everyone_ drive in your time?" Rose, occupying the passenger seat of Brynne's black two-door, gazed out the windows at all the cars next to the sidewalk.

Brynne chuckled. "Yeah. Most people do. Most everyone has a driver's license."

"You have to have a license to drive?"

"There are a lot of rules to learn about driving, to keep you from killing yourself and other people. This thing isn't just a vehicle; in the wrong hands and the wrong circumstances, this is a weapon."

The car rolled to a stop at a red light. Brynne had no idea where she was going. Hockley and Jeremy could be anywhere. There had to be a better way than driving around, hoping to spot them by chance. She looked in front of her, and she had her answer.

"Gigantic?" she read.

This earned a look from Rose. "Pardon?"

Directly ahead of Brynne, just past beyond the light signal, was a large billboard advertisement for an exhibit dedicated to Titanic's sister ship _Gigantic_.

This couldn't be a mere coincidence. The Titanic didn't sink, but Brynne couldn't understand why there would be an exhibit about the Gigantic.

--

Riding the subway wasn't a big deal for Jeremy. For the past few years, he'd been living in Belfast, but he'd often traveled to London for work and for leisure. Before moving to Belfast, he'd lived in New York City. Back then, he'd taken the subway everyday on his way to work.

Cal, on the other hand, could count on one hand the number trips he'd taken on the subway. He'd had plenty of opportunities to ride, but he preferred his own private transportation, as opposed to traveling among the unfettered masses.

Regardless of either of their previous subway experiences, neither of them had ever experienced the 21st-century subway or anything like it before. For one thing, they were surrounded by all types of people, people of varying socio-economic levels and ethnicities. Even more galling to Cal was the sight of these inferior races sitting comfortably while decent white men and women were forced to stand. When he and Jeremy had first stepped on the train, he'd found the very presence of these people absurd. Even more unacceptable than their mere presence was their failure to immediately give up their seats upon Cal and Jeremy's entrance.

Cal, of course, being who he is, felt the need to confront the first black person he saw, a businessman sitting across from the car entrance. "You – don't you know your manners? Get up."

The man spared a single, dismissive glance at Cal and went back to reading his copy of the Wall Street Journal. But Cal persisted. "Hey, _boy _– I'm speaking to you."

The man lowered his newspaper just enough to peer over it at Cal. "Do you have a problem, sir?"

The doors to the car closed. "Yes, you people seem to have forgotten your manners," Cal said.

The man lowered his paper to his lap. "Excuse me?"

Jeremy could feel the tension rising in the car as it began to rock with the movement of the train, but Cal persisted. "You uppity Negroes test my patience incessantly."

The man shot to his feet. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

The man stepped to Cal. "Man, don't make me put my foot in your ass!"

"What did you say? How dare you speak to me in such a manner. Do you know who I am? I could make your life incredibly unbearable."

"I don't care who the hell you are," the man said. "You can't go around talking to people like that. Now, if you open that mouth of yours to spew any more of that mess, I'm gonna kick you into the next century."

At this point, Jeremy intervened. "Mr. Hockley, I'm sure there are more seats in the next car. Why don't we go see what we can find?"

"Yeah, why don't you go see what you can find?" the insulted man repeated.

Cal didn't want to leave the situation alone, but Jeremy was gently pulling him away toward the next car.

"We're going to have to be careful here," Jeremy said once they were in the next car. "Things are obviously different here. They don't operate as they do at home." He sat in the first seat they came to.

Cal nodded and sat in the seat beside Jeremy. "Yes. I see that now." He straightened his coat and tie and smoothed his hair with his hand.

Jeremy eyed Cal cautiously. "If you're going to follow through with this plan of yours, we've got to keep calm, level heads." Jeremy didn't actually think Cal's plan had much merit, but he felt it was safer to play along rather than openly antagonize this man who sometimes showed flashes of unstable behavior.

--

Rose and Brynne stood outside the convention center, gazing up at the larger-than-life poster of a ship that looked exactly like the Titanic, but instead of that name, the words above the ship read "Gigantic".

Once they made it past the admission counter and actually walked into the exhibit, Brynne felt as if she were back in 1912. But the exhibit didn't represent 1912, as she quickly discovered. The introductory panel of the exhibit told visitors in big bold letters that the Gigantic sank in 1913:

_The _Gigantic_, a British passenger liner, struck an iceberg off the coast of Newfoundland on the night of April 14, 1913, and sank in the early morning hours of April 15. The ship, the largest and most luxurious of the period, was on its maiden voyage from Southampton to New York, carrying over 3,000 people. There were no survivors._

Brynne felt the pit of her stomach sink. The Titanic may not have sunk, but the Gigantic sure did, and with an astronomical loss of life. How the hell did this happen?

As Brynne and Rose moved through the exhibit, both learned a great deal about the fate of Titanic's younger sister. It followed the nearly identical path that Titanic was supposed to follow. Gigantic had set sail from Southampton on April 10, 1913 with planned stops at Cherbourg and Queenstown. Then she'd set out into the open water, bound for New York. She was 900 feet long, 100 feet wide, and was carrying its full capacity of passengers and crew. There were no lifeboats onboard.

On the night of April 14th, the liner struck an iceberg in such a manner that she'd been mortally wounded. The nearest ship was four hours away, and the water was near freezing. No one survived due to the lack of lifeboats.

"No lifeboats?" Rose said. "How could they have left port with no lifeboats at all, not even collapsibles?"

Brynne, at a complete loss, shook her head. "I don't know."

They came to the passenger list, and they both scoured it for familiar names. There was no separation between who survived and who perished because there were no survivors. The passenger list was the list of the dead. Andrews and Astor were gone. So were Ismay, Molly Brown, Captain Smith, the Countess of Rothes, the Duff Gordons – the list was endless. And there were some new additions of people who hadn't been aboard the Titanic. J.P. Morgan, John D. Rockefeller, and the Vanderbilts had all perished.

"This thing nearly wiped out all of Edwardian high society," Brynne said. She turned to Rose, whose eyes brimmed with tears. To her, the people on this list weren't just names; she'd known most of them. Many had been her friends. "I know this is terrible, but this was never supposed to happen. We're going to fix this."

They left the passenger list, making a left turn around a corner. And there they found exactly who they were looking for. Cal and Jeremy stood only a few feet away, captivated by a large schematic of Gigantic's interior.

Brynne and Rose sidled up to the two men. "It's amazing, isn't it?" Brynne said. "It's nearly twenty feet longer and ten feet wider, but the untrained eye would swear up and down that it's the same ship."

Jeremy didn't take his eyes away from the schematic. "How did you find us?"

"Once I saw the billboard for the exhibit, it wasn't difficult. I figured that if you knew about it, you'd probably find your way here. I bet on the fact that you probably would have seen the advertisement somewhere."

"You were right. I saw it on the front page of the New York Times," Jeremy said.

"I hope you boys weren't planning on putting up a fight," Brynne said. "I'm prepared to take you by force, if I must." It sounded like a bluff, but it wasn't. She had a weapon that she would use if she had to.

Cal turned to Brynne. "No, that won't be necessary."

Brynne looked to Jeremy for confirmation of his cooperation. He turned to her and nodded. "Yes, he's right. Forceful measures won't be necessary. We'll come with you. You have my word." He nodded to the schematic before them. "Brynne, what happened? How did this happen?"

Brynne shook her head. "I'm not 100 percent sure. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This is why you have to go back."

"We caused this?" Rose asked.

"No," Brynne answered quickly. "In fact, I may be at fault here, actually. I can't give you a breakdown of everything that was supposed to happen and everything that wasn't. I do know that this ship – Gigantic – wasn't suppose to sink, not like this."

"So, it does sink?" Rose asked.

"Unfortunately, yes, but the circumstances were completely different. That story is … complicated. I'd be more than willing to tell you about it, but we should go somewhere else, first."

This situation was getting stickier by the hour, it seemed. The Gigantic had sank instead of the Titanic, and that left Brynne with one burning question: What had happened to the Titanic?


	15. Could It Get Any Worse?

Chapter 15 - Could It Get Any Worse?

The foursome piled into Brynne's car in the convention center parking lot.

"What really happened?" Jeremy asked, settling into the passenger seat beside Brynne.

"Is everyone buckled in?" Brynne asked, self-consciously avoiding Jeremy's query and immediately starting the car's engine. "You don't want to go flying through the windshield."

Rose, sitting beside Cal on the backseat, was the only one who bothered fiddling with the seatbelt. Jeremy and Cal ignored the suggestion. For one, they didn't know what she was talking about; and secondly, they were concerned with other things.

"Brynne - tell me what happened," Jeremy pressed.

Brynne sighed unable to think of any other stalling tactics. She put the car into gear and guided it out of the lot. "The ship sank," she finally said after pulling out into traffic. "She was supposed to, at least."

"That's impossible," Cal said from the back seat. "Everyone knows that the Titanic is unsinkable."

"I don't have to remind you that I worked on that ship for a year," Brynne said. "The Titanic was far from perfect. She certainly wasn't unsinkable, I assure you. I can also assure you that she was never supposed to dock in New York."

"How did she sink?" Rose asked.

"The exact same way the Gigantic did," Brynne said. "She hit an iceberg and sank. There weren't enough boats and 1500 hundred people died. 700 survived. Please don't ask me to tell you made it and who didn't."

"It hardly matters now, anyway," Cal said. "The Titanic didn't sink."

"No, but the Gigantic did, and most of the people who were supposed to die on the Titanic ended up dying on the Gigantic instead, along with 1500 extra people who weren't supposed to die at all. Gigantic wouldn't have happened if Titanic had sunk like she was supposed to."

"And how would you know that?" Cal asked.

Brynne sighed, dreading the fact that she was about to share more information with these people. "The Titanic's foundering resulted in a number of maritime changes that were meant to ensure that a disaster like that would never happen again. So, logically speaking, if Gigantic's foundering had happened after Titanic, it would have had to be under radically different circumstances than Titanic. As it turns out, that scenario isn't very far from what was supposed to happen."

"What do you mean?" Rose asked.

"After the Titanic sank, they changed the name of Gigantic to Britannic. Of course, they increased the number of lifeboats on the new ship. They also installed larger davits." She looked at Jeremy. "And they raised the watertight bulkheads to D-deck."

"D-deck?" Jeremy repeated.

"They weren't high enough on the Titanic," Brynne explained. "It's one of the reasons she sunk in the first place."

Jeremy gazed out the front windshield, his eyes moving rapidly over an invisible overlay of Titanic's deckplans. "I knew that keeping them lower would pose a slight risk," he said. He looked at Brynne again. "But I never thought that they might lead to the ship's sinking. Not in a million years."

"I don't think anyone did," Brynne said. "But the way the ship was damaged highlighted the major flaws in the system."

"So they corrected those flaws when they built Gigantic, I mean Britannic," Jeremy said. "What else did they change? Did they move forward with the plans to make it larger than Titanic?"

"They scaled back, but they did make it slightly larger than Titanic. It wasn't any longer, but it was wider, at 94 feet."

The four of them rode in silence for a few more minutes. It was a lot for all of them to take in, even Brynne. _Especially_ Brynne, because she knew exactly how history was supposed to have played out but didn't. For some reason.

---

"I guess it's slightly comforting to know that the firm will still be around in 100 years," Jeremy said. "Slightly."

"I know exactly how you feel," Brynne said. She unlocked her apartment door and gently pushed it open. "I know how much everyone there put into those ships. And I know how crushing it is to know that the reality of their fates fell short of the hopes everyone had for them." She turned and suddenly noticed: Payton and Bell stood inside the apartment, in the living room.

"Payton," she said. Her surprise at seeing them was evident on her face. "What are you doing here? Is it the links?" She followed Jeremy, Cal, and Rose into the apartment and shut the door behind her.

"Actually, yes," Payton said, stepping past the sofa toward Brynne. "They're working."

"Already? What was the problem?" Brynne asked.

"A virus," Payton said.

"You mean someone intentionally–"

"Sabotage," Payton said, interrupting and completing Brynne's sentence for her.

"Who?" Brynne asked immediately. "What do they want?"

"We don't know who exactly," Payton replied, "but we have a few solid ideas. As to your second question – what they want – that one's the easy one: they want everything. But we can't dwell on everything. We've got a timeline to fix."

"We certainly do. Did you know about this?" she asked, handing her boss a pamphlet from the Gigantic exhibit. Payton hadn't heard about the exhibit from anyone directly, but he hadn't needed to. He'd expected that these types of changes could result from the modifications in the timeline. That didn't mean it sat with him any easier, though.

"Bell, get that link open," he snapped quietly, his eyes still moving over the brochure.

Bell immediately moved toward Brynne's bedroom. Brynne ushered Cal, Rose, and Jeremy in, following Bell into the bedroom and toward the little closet. Payton was on their heels. By the time the whole group was in the bedroom, Bell had activated the link.

"Is everything ready? Has it been calibrated to the right date?" Payton asked rapidly.

"It's all ready to go," Bell replied. His eyes shifted from Payton to Brynne.

She knew exactly what the look meant and turned to Cal, Rose, and Jeremy. "It's time, now," she told them. "It's time for you to go back."

"To the ship?" Rose asked.

"To 1912," Brynne said. "You have to go back through the link. It's the only way you can get back to the world you know." With a measure of uncertainty, Rose looked at the light spilling from the closet.

Brynne noted Rose's hesitation. "It's safe, I promise. It's just like the one we came through last night. You'll be fine, you have my word. But you have to go. Now."

Rose looked at Brynne again, seeking further reassurance. Finding it in Brynne's confident brown eyes, she finally nodded. "Thank you for your kindness and hospitality. I'll not soon forget it."

'Yes, you will,' Brynne thought, watching Rose turn and walk toward the light. 'Sooner than you know.' When the girl returned to her native time, she would become completely unaware of her time-traveling experience because of the time signature phenomenon.

"Mr. Hockley, you're next," Brynne said. The announcement wasn't necessary, as Cal had already stepped forward before she said it.

He straightened his tie and smoothed the front of his suit with his hands. "With pleasure. I'm all too happy to get back to a world where everything makes sense and is as it should be." Without hesitation or another word, he stepped into the waiting link.

Brynne turned to Jeremy. They both knew it was his time. There was so much between them that was unresolved and was destined to remain that way, it seemed.

"I'm sorry," she told him suddenly.

"For what?" he asked.

"For everything," Brynne said. She wanted to explain what she meant, explain that she was sorry for ever crossing the line and getting involved. Carmen had warned her, but Brynne's stubbornness had won out over her head, and now there was pain where there should be none. Brynne wanted to pour all of this out to Jeremy, but instead she only repeated, "For everything."

Jeremy only nodded. After a moment's hesitation, he leaned in and kissed Brynne on the cheek before quickly turning and disappearing into the light.

Then the light went out.

A look at Bell and Payton and the confused expressions they wore was enough to tell Brynne that something wasn't right. She got even further proof when Jeremy emerged from the closet.

"I don't believe that was supposed to happen," Jeremy said.

Bell whipped out a handheld diagnostic device and pointed it toward the darkened link, while Payton, Brynne, and Jeremy looked on expectedly.

Bell deactivated the little scanner and looked at the rest of the group. "It's dead," he said, crestfallen. "I'm not reading any activity at all."

Before Bell had even gotten the final words of his statement out of his mouth, Payton was on his cell, barking orders to the IT people at COSI headquarters. Red in the face and huffing, he snapped his phone shut after only a few moments, fighting the urge to hurl it at the carpeted floor.

"They're dead, all of them," he continued rapidly. "It's that damned virus. We thought we had it, but it's more sophisticated than we thought. It's going to take us a while longer to get to the bottom of this."

---

Payton had yelled and screamed and barked until he was blue in the face, but all of that would never be enough to get the links operational again as fast as they all wanted. So, Jeremy was stuck, for now at least, with Brynne in the 21st century.

Payton and Bell had left over an hour ago, and Jeremy and Brynne had done little more than stare at each other in the time since. They never had fully resolved the personal issues that had arisen as one of the unintended consequences of this whole mess.

They sat on the small sofas across from each other in Brynne's living room.

"I never figured out if you were still mad at me or not," Brynne said. "Are you?"

Jeremy sighed heavily. "I'm too confused and scared to be angry about anything at this point," he said. "Too preoccupied with wondering whether I'm stuck here forever or not."

"Not forever," Brynne chimed. "Only until death."

It was a futile attempt at humor, one that Jeremy didn't appreciate at all. "What am I going to do if I'm never able to go back?" Jeremy pondered aloud. "I wouldn't know what I'm doing here. I'd have no idea what I'm walking into."

"That's not true. You have an inkling, at the very least, from what you've seen during your time here," Brynne said.

"That's all good and well, but that's only a glimpse," Jeremy said. "I know nothing about what it takes to survive in your world. I'll give you a prime example. This morning, Cal wanted to buy a newspaper from a street vendor. Cal, understandably, was prepared to pay a few cents. A few, not fifty. You know that in 1912, fifty cents is an absurd amount to pay for a newspaper, even on Sundays and for special editions. But here, it's apparently the norm for a mere daily. It's those kinds of things, the things you have to pick up from experience, that I can't help but worry about."

Brynne stood and crossed over to the other sofa where Jeremy sat. She sunk down beside him. "Well, we're not going to worry about it right now because as far as we know, it isn't going to happen like that. Yes, the whole situation with the links looks bad now, but Payton insists that the problem is fixable, and I'm inclined to agree with him. We just have to wait it out."

On cue, Brynne's cell phone rang. She leaned over, picked it up off the coffee table, and looked at the caller ID. It was Payton.

"Brynne," he said through the phone after she answered, "we think we know what changed the timeline."


	16. Here I Go Again

Chapter 16 - Here I Go Again

"What did you find?" Brynne asked as she rushed into Payton's office, Jeremy right at her heels. Payton stood between his desk and the small table next to his window. Bell was there, too, directly across from Payton on the other side of the table.

"It's the brochure you gave me earlier," Payton said. "I take it you didn't look at it very closely."

"Why do you say that?" Brynne asked.

Payton tossed the open brochure on the table and pointed. "Check out that picture."

Brynne and Jeremy looked at the photo beneath Payton's finger. It was a reprint of an old picture. A small group stood in the foreground with the Gigantic in the background. "Read the caption," Payton instructed.

Brynne's eyes skipped over the tiny type beneath the picture. She gasped when she saw her own name. Her eyes slid up to the picture again. It was no mistake. Her own image stared back at her from the page.

"It's me," she said, stunned. "It's me at the launch of the Gigantic." She tore her eyes away from the brochure. They shifted back and forth between Payton and Bell. "But it's not possible. I was never there. That launch would have been in 1913, I came back way before then."

"It must have something to do with the link virus," Bell surmised. "But I sure as hell can't figure what it is."

Brynne's eyes returned to the photo. There was another familiar face in the picture, but it wasn't part of the group where Brynne's face appeared. The man that Brynne recognized stood apart from the group. "Look at this," she said. "This is the man I ran into on the Titanic. He's the one who was after the notebook. But how can that be? I saw him jump off the Titanic's deck. He should be dead."

Payton nodded slowly. "Carmen briefed me on that little incident," he said. "We think he may be the key to this whole mess with the timeline change."

"You think he caused it?" Brynne asked. She'd suspected as much but had never had any ironclad proof.

"It probably isn't a coincidence that he's in this picture," Bell said. "We believe very strongly that his involvement in your case had something to do with the change and possibly with the link virus. It's very likely that it's all related."

"That woman in the picture could be a double, especially since Brynne has no memory of being in this picture," Payton said. "It's entirely plausible that she and that man have nothing to do with the virus."

"It's also plausible that they have everything to do with it." Bell countered. He wasn't confrontational in his manner of speaking; rather, he seemed to be considering all the possibilities. "We have no way of knowing until we get to the bottom of it."

"How do we go about doing that, though?" Brynne asked. "That's the problem."

"We start by sending you back to the Titanic ASAP," Payton said.

Brynne's brows raised. "You want me to go find these people?"

"The main thing we have to concern ourselves with now is getting the links back up. Fixing the timeline is on the back burner for now. In fact, I wouldn't even worry about it, if I were you." Payton cast a glance in Bell's direction. "Besides, it's looking more and more like the two are related, so finding these two characters might be a way to take care of both. But finding them is the priority."

Brynne nodded. "I understand. With all this talk about going back as soon as possible, I assume the links are back up. Am I going back tonight?"

"Actually, no. The links are still down, and you're not going back tonight." Brynne's brows furrowed deeply. Had she missed something?

Payton continued. "Research has been working on a special project for the better part of a year, and it's ready to be put to the test. You're going to test it." Payton stepped over to his desk and picked up what looked like a wrist watch. "You're going back as soon as we get you back into a corset and dress."

"Payton, I don't understand. What about the links? How am I supposed to travel if they're still down? And what about my time signature?"

Payton held up the watch. It looked identical to those that travel agents used to activate and deactivate links. "That's what this is for," he said.

"I already have one of those," Brynne said.

"You don't have one like this," Payton countered. "I guarantee it. This one looks like yours, but it has one special extra feature -- it generates a temporal shield around the wearer, protecting him or her from temporally induced memory loss and eliminating the need for a time signature." He handed it to Brynne.

"You mean, now we can travel whenever we want?" Brynne asked, examining the device.

"We sure can."

"But you said the links were still down."

"The system is down, but we can get a temporary one up, just long enough for you to get to where you need to be," Bell explained.

"You can get me there," Brynne began, "but how do I get back?"

"Your new little toy there holds the key to that as well," Payton said. "Once our people establish the link with their handhelds, your new wrist unit automatically syncs with them. Once it does that you'll have everything you need to generate a link that'll bring you back home."

Brynne nodded, turning the facts of the situation over in her head. It sounded like they had thought of everything, but she'd be a fool to believe that everything about it was perfect. Regardless, it was the best plan they had. It was probably the only plan they had. "Sounds good," she said.

"Before you get too excited, there's a catch," Payton began again. "This whole set up is temporary. It's not meant to last forever. In other words, we're working under time pressure here. We've worked out the math on this, and we came to the conclusion that you need to re-initialize the link by April 15th. Whether you find our mystery travelers, whether the ship sinks or not, that's the deadline."

"Not that I'd want to hang around in 1912 for longer than I need to, but out of curiosity, what happens if I don't re-initialize the link in time?" Brynne asked. "Will I be trapped?"

"Not necessarily," Bell said. "Look, we know we're going to get the links back up, it's just a matter of when, and that depends on how long it takes us to figure out this virus. You won't be trapped, but you might be there a little longer than you planned. And on top of that, we'd have to find you."

"How?"

"We'd scan for your time signature," Bell replied. "Everyone's is different, so it'd be a matter of figuring out where yours was in time. It sounds pretty simple, but it can get complicated."

"So, basically, don't make us have to come after you," Payton said. "If you do your job, and get the hell out of there on time, you'll be fine, and we can move on. So, go get dressed, go get ready. Be ready to go in half an hour."

---

It took Brynne nearly the entire half-hour to get completely dressed. She returned to Payton's office dressed from head to heel in 1912 garb. Picking an appropriate outfit had proven to be a special challenge. Payton and the COSI scientists were able to target a specific date, and they could narrow the location to a certain degree, but they couldn't target a specific place or time of the day. Consequently, Brynne had no idea what situation she'd be walking into when she stepped through the link this time. She only knew that she was going back to April 10, 1912, the day the Titanic set sail from Southampton.

Jeremy was alone in the office when Brynne returned. His back was to the door. "I guess this is more in line with how you're used to seeing me," Brynne said, announcing her return.

Jeremy swiveled in his seat to see Brynne standing in the doorway. "Absolutely," he said approvingly.

The gravity and peculiarity of his own situation still weighed heavily on him, and it showed. He sighed heavily watching her walk into the office. "This is all so crazy. You all speak of time travel like its as easy as catching a train or walking down the street."

"It is for us," Brynne said. "Usually."

"Does this mean I'm going to be able to go back to 1912 with you?" Jeremy asked.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so. It's an experimental process. I don't think they'd risk it."

"But they'd risk sending you."

"That's different. This is what I'm trained to do. I signed up to take risks."

Jeremy nodded slightly, his eyes cast on the floor. "I know."

The acknowledgement earned a stunned look from Brynne. It wasn't what he'd said; rather, it was the way he'd said it that took Brynne by surprise. There was a quiet recognition in his words, recognition that could also easily pass for a statement of forgiveness.

When Jeremy finally looked at Brynne, she knew that her appraisal was spot on. She had taken exactly one step toward Jeremy, intending to throw her arms around him, when Payton, Bell, and a small team of COSI scientists walked into the office.

"Good, you're ready," Payton said, oblivious to the intimate moment he had just interrupted. He stopped in front of Brynne, examining her clothing and hair for any glaring flaws. "I don't have to tell you that you're pretty much going into this blind. We know when and where but only vaguely."

Brynne nodded. "I know. I'll just have to work with whatever situation I walk into," she said.

Payton nodded, obviously pleased with Brynne's positive attitude. He looked over his shoulder at the techs, who were busy making preparations for the link. One of the techs looked at Payton and nodded.

"We're ready," the tech announced.

"Let's see what we're workin' with," Payton said. "Whenever you're ready," he told the tech.

Everyone turned their full attention to the techs. Two of them held large handheld devices, which they both pointed at the same wall. They each pressed some buttons on their respective devices. Then there was a flash, and a pale blue light filled the room.

"It's stabilized," one of the techs reported after a few seconds.

The link's eerily different blue color filled Brynne with uncertainty. She looked at the tech and asked, "Are you sure?"

"It's at optimum stability," the tech replied. "It looks different because it is. You have to remember this is the first time we've created a temporary link like this."

Payton turned to Brynne and handed her the new wrist unit he'd brought out earlier. "Here you go," he said.

Brynne took the unit and strapped it around her small wrist, making sure to turn it on so it could sync properly. "Thanks." She pushed the uneasy, unpleasant thoughts from her mind and began to walk toward the light.

"Good luck," Payton said. "This time you're going to need it."


	17. I Thee Wed

Chapter 17 - I Thee Wed

When Brynne stepped out of the link, she in a lavatory on the Titanic. It had taken longer for her to pass through this time than it normally did, but she attributed it to the experimental nature of this type of link. She was lucky to have come through in such a discreet location. Having passengers see someone suddenly appear out of thin air on the Promenade deck certainly wouldn't have made her job any easier.

She stood in front of the mirror, looking herself over. Her attire looked flawless; Payton and the COSI wardrobe department had seen to that, though for whom or for what she looked flawless, she had no idea. She didn't know if she, or her double, rather, had changed anything or if the other woman was still here, even. Upon this small revelation, experienced a short moment of silent panic as the reality of her situation bore down upon her, and she ruminated on just how precarious her situation really was. She was here. Alone. Without a clue about what she would find when she stepped out into the corridor.

Brynne closed her eyes, and took a series of slow, deep breaths to calm her climbing heartrate.

"Are you well, ma'am?"

Brynne's eyes popped open and fell upon the image of a young stewardess standing behind her in the mirror. Brynne quickly composed herself. Whatever doubts and fears she had, she couldn't give in to them now. Her mission was at hand, ready or not.

She sighed. "I'm fine," she said. "I just got a little lightheaded for a moment."

The stewardess's concerned expression quickly brightened. "It's likely all the excitement surrounding the voyage," she said. "You and Mr. Andrews have worked yourselves ragged." She took a few more steps so that she was standing directly beside Brynne. "So, you decided to change for dinner after all."

Brynne tilted her head slightly, glad to finally be learning something about her new situation. That one sentence had told her plenty. It was dinner time, and this stewardess had apparently seen her double before now, as the other Brynne had been wearing a different outfit. But where was this other woman, now? That was the critical question. "Yes," Brynne said, responding to the stewardess's observation. "It's been such a long day, you know."

"Oh, of course, ma'am," the stewardess said with a nod and a smile. "Shall I accompany you to the dining saloon?"

Brynne nodded. "I'd appreciate that very much, thank you."

They stepped out of the lavatory and into the corridor.

"It must be grand eating in such fancy surroundings with important men like Mr. Ismay and Mr. Andrews," the stewardess gushed as they stepped around the corner and approached the elevators.

"It has its moments," Brynne conceded. It certainly wasn't all it was cracked up to be, though, she thought, stepping into the waiting lift car ahead of the stewardess.

"I suppose a lady such as yourself has grown used to it by now," the stewardess said.

The car began to descend. "I don't think I could ever get used to all of it," Brynne said. "Sometimes, its nice to be able to let your guard down and just be natural." Brynne paused when she heard the other woman chuckle. "What is it?"

"Mr. Andrews said the very same thing just this morning," the stewardess said. "You two do complement each other quite well."

Brynne, a bit surprised, looked at the other woman. "Why, thank you," Brynne replied. "I appreciate the compliment. I'll be sure to pass it along to Mr. Andrews when I see him." The stewardess's statement had caught Brynne off-guard for some reason. Something about it didn't sound right.

The lift came to a gentle stop, and the attendant announced, "D-deck." He promptly slid the doors open for his passengers.

"Here we are," the stewardess said. She hung back, and Brynne stepped out first. "Now, you should be getting along, ma'am. Mr. Andrews will be waiting for you."

"Of course. Thankyou ... " Not knowing the stewardess's name, Brynne's voice trailed noticeably at the end of the sentence.

The stewardess promptly picked up on it. "Mary, ma'am," she said. "Mary Sloan."

"Mary," Brynne said with a nod and smile. "I apologize for my horrible memory. I'm sure you must've told me once already today at least."

"It's no trouble, ma'am. No trouble at all. It's been a hectic day."

Mary left, and Brynne turned and stepped around the corner, toward the first class reception room. She was nervous as hell, but her exterior demeanor was the picture of calmness. She was here without back-up this time, working completely without a net. She breathed in deeply and exhaled. 'Stay calm,' she told herself. 'Keep your cool; you can't lose it now.'

She scanned the room for Andrews, but he'd found her first and was already making his way toward her by the time she finally spotted him.

"Brynne," he said once he reached her.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Brynne said.

"Late? No, not in the least," Andrews said. He began to lead her gently by the elbow toward the dining saloon.

"I hope you haven't been waiting too long on my account," Brynne said.

"Not at all," Andrews replied. "I've only arrived just recently, myself. I spent a few moments chatting with Ismay right before you walked in."

Brynne recognized the tone in his voice instantly. Slightly weary with a hint of frustration. He'd often sounded that way after interacting with Ismay during Brynne's first trip. Obviously, some things hadn't changed.

But some things had. Andrews looked down at Brynne and grinned. Of course she'd seen him smile a thousand times before but something, something in his eyes, was different this time. Brynne could only grin back at him weakly as she tried to feel her way through a situation that was growing more awkward with every passing minute.

"Dr. O'Loughlin," Andrews said as he and Brynne approached an older, uniformed gentleman.

Dr. William O'Loughlin, the ship's doctor, turned around, grinning beneath a bushy, white mustache. "Mr. Andrews," he said, his eyes shifting from Andrews to Brynne. "How has married life been treating the newlyweds?" he asked.

He was looking at Brynne, and it took her a moment to register that his question was directed at her. She was married?!

"It's been quite nice," she replied. Of course, she didn't know to whom she was supposed to be married, but it was just a detail at the moment, a detail she could figure out later. It might not even be necessary if her so-called husband wasn't onboard.

"I imagine you haven't had much time to enjoy it, with the Titanic taking up so much of your time," O'Loughlin said. "It may not be the ideal honeymoon, and you may be here in an official working capacity, but at least you get to spend it together."

So, Brynne's new husband was on the ship and possibly an employee of White Star. She supposed it was possible that her husband worked for Harland and Wolff. In fact, that made a lot of sense, the more she thought about it. She was probably married to the person who'd taken Jeremy's place, since he was out of the picture in this new, altered timeline. Drawing on her time at Harland and Wolff and the people she'd encountered during her year there, she had a few ideas about who it could be, but nothing was certain in this new timeline. She looked around the room, searching for any familiar face from the shipyard or any unfamiliar face who looked like he might be walking toward them.

"Yes, we've been truly lucky in that regard," Andrews said.

Brynne looked at Andrews. He was looking at her with that strange smile again. It unsettled her. And she didn't understand why he should care so much that she was able to be with her husband while she worked on the Titanic. At last, she surmised that it probably had something to do with wanting happy employees.

Andrews continued. "I must say that I count myself as extraordinarily lucky, especially over the course of this last year," he said. "I've found happiness with an exquisite wife and a fulfilling career. A man can't ask for much more in good conscience."

"I know your lives together will be filled with joy," O'Loughlin said. "You do make a good match, that's for certain."

Brynne's head snapped to the doctor as she finally realized to whom she was married in this new timeline. But she knew it couldn't be true ... could it? How? Andrews was already married, with a child, no less. It didn't make any sense.

But there was still a chance that her imagination was running away with her, and that she was jumping to conclusions. Before she acted on any of it, she still needed some kind of confirmation but what?

"Will you be joining us for dinner?" Brynne asked O'Loughlin.

"No, Mrs. Andrews, I'll be dining with the Captain and Mr. Ismay this evening," the doctor replied.

And there it was. The final proof. She didn't know how it had happened, but she was now Mrs. Thomas Andrews. She barely listened while Andrews and O'Loughlin finished the conversation. The doctor left them and walked on to the dining saloon. Andrews offered his arm to Brynne, which she, of course, was obliged to take, as his wife. They began their own short walk to the saloon.

This mission was going to be much more complicated than Brynne could ever have imagined.


	18. PM Dawn

Chapter 18 - P.M. Dawn

When she'd first sat down for dinner with Andrews, Brynne had wanted nothing more than to jump out the window beside their table. But Andrews's easy manner put her at ease. The two had a pleasant, engaging conversation over their meal, mostly about the Titanic and Harland and Wolff. Brynne found that nearly everything she'd learned about the ship and the firm during her first trip remained unchanged. But for the gestures or statements that served as occasional reminders, she forgot that the man sitting across the table from her was now her husband rather than her boss. By the time dinner was over, Brynne had calmed considerably, though not entirely. She still hadn't figured out how she'd ended up with Andrews.

Looking at the stars from the Promenade Deck, Brynne tried to sort out the apparent changes that had occurred in this timeline. Specifically, she tried to surmise what changes could possibly have led to her marriage to Thomas Andrews. In essence, she tried to guess at their history together, but it was impossible. There were too many variables to account for, and a myriad of scenarios presented themselves to her. This all caused the easy mood that had settled over her during dinner to dissipate - that coupled with the dawning realization that they wouldn't be strolling the decks forever, and eventually, they were going to end up in the stateroom they presumably shared. Together. As husband and wife.

"What do you think of our ship, finally out here on the open water?" Andrews asked, standing beside her, looking out at the darkness.

Brynne stiffened and kept her eyes trained on the water. There wasn't much to train them on. They'd departed from Cherbourg a few hours before, and the port city was no longer visible. "It turned out well," she said.

"It's better than that," Andrews gushed. "It's grand."

"You act as if this is the first ship you've put to sea," Brynne said. The words came out more coldly than she'd intended, perhaps even harshly. She hoped that Andrews hadn't noticed the subtle change in her tone.

"It's the first I've put to sea with you," Andrews said. If he'd noticed her coldness, he certainly didn't let on. Toward her, he was as warm as ever.

Brynne kept her eyes on the darkness but consciously relaxed her countenance and posture. "Will it be the last?" she asked him.

Andrews turned his back to the sea and leaned back, resting against the window sill. "I was waiting for this issue to come up," he said. "I've been giving it a great deal of thought. We probably should've discussed it more before the wedding."

"That would have been ideal," Brynne said. She looked down at her hands, folded together on the sill. "It isn't wrong for you to want a wife who'll make a good home for you."

"I want you to be happy, Brynne," Andrews said.

"And I can't be happy if you aren't," Brynne said. "Could you really be happy seeing your wife at the office everyday? On top of that, you know there's no shortage of busybodies who make it their life's work to gossip about how improper it is for a married woman to work, especially in a man's field." She finally looked at him. "Could you be happy, or even content, with that?"

"First of all, I don't care about the busybodies," Andrews said. "They like to talk, and they'll find something to talk about regardless. And second, how could I not be happy seeing you everyday at the firm? I've been seeing you there everyday for the last year, since you first walked into the office and into my life. My attitude hasn't changed simply because your name has."

Brynne knew that he meant every word of it because that was just the kind of person he was. He came from a prominent Irish family, and both family and professional obligations often immersed him in the world of the affluent. Yet, he kept a level head and managed to distance himself from that world, disregarding their rules to a degree, not caring what they thought.

Andrews offered his arm, and Brynne linked hers through. They retreated from the chilly night air to the ship's warm interior.

---

Brynne's eyes roamed over the small Titanic model on the mantle above the heater in A-36. Andrews had revealed quite a bit of information about this new past over dinner and during their stroll on deck, but it still wasn't enough to satisfy Brynne. She needed details, and all she had now was vagueness. True, it was more than she'd had when she'd first stepped out of the link, but she needed more. What if someone were to ask her about her history at Harland and Wolff, or about her relationship with Andrews? Plenty of others must have known the story of how Brynne and Andrews had met, of how and when they'd become more than just co-workers. She couldn't risk making something up that contradicted what was already established as fact.

Brynne paused for a moment and pondered whether knowing those details was really necessary. In five days, she would be back in D.C. in her own time, and this mission would, hopefully, be over with. What purpose would knowing the details of their relationship serve beyond satisfying her own curiosity? Despite the inconvenience of not knowing, Brynne marveled at how an impostor had created this life which she'd so seamlessly stepped into. Someone had taken significant steps to create this new life of hers, but the lingering question was why? It was something Brynne couldn't initially answer for. She couldn't make sense of why all this was necessary if her adversaries' ultimate goal was to keep the Titanic from sinking or to recover some notebook. It didn't seem to make sense. The deeper Brynne ventured into this assignment, the less she suspected the Titanic of being an important factor. The ship seemed to grow more inconsequential with every piece of the puzzle uncovered. The more time she spent pondering this puzzle, the more she began to believe that there was a much larger picture.

Then Brynne thought of something that chilled her insides: What if the Titanic and Brynne's new life on it had been nothing more than an elaborate ruse somehow related to the link system failure?

The warm arms that suddenly encircled Brynne caught her by surprise, and her heavy thoughts temporarily left her. They could only belong to one person, and she fought against the initial, instinctive tension that accompanies the sensation of unfamiliar touch. Instead of recoiling, she expelled the tension by moving. She quickly turned around and draped her arms around Andrew's neck, gazing into his eyes.

Pretending to be his wife wouldn't be so bad, Brynne speculated. Andrews was kind, handsome, intelligent. Her aversion to intimacy with him on this level was all in her head. She had to get over how the whole situation made her feel like a complete homewrecker. During her first trip, she'd met Helen Andrews, Andrews's "real" wife, as well as their little daughter, Elizabeth. Brynne and Jeremy had been to their home for dinner more times than she could count. Helen and Elizabeth might not even exist in this timeline, but Brynne couldn't shake the feeling that she was having an illicit affair with someone else's husband. For Brynne, that fact alone presented enough of an incentive to know the details of her past with Andrews.

"When did you know that you wanted to marry me?" Brynne asked.

"I would have thought that you know that story by now, after all this time," Andrews said.

"I do," Brynne said. "But I love hearing you tell it." She left him and lounged on the bed.

Andrews chuckled and joined her, obliging. "It was a spring day, almost a year ago, May 1911," he began. "It was an overcast day, threatening rain. I was in my office with one of the junior associates, discussing you, actually. I looked down at the drafting floor from my office window, and there was this woman I knew I'd never seen before, coming down the aisle as if she'd already done so a million times before. You had already caught my attention with your work, which had arrived before I ever saw you." Andrews eyed Brynne with mock skepticism. "Was it really by mistake that your plans found their way to Harland and Wolff?"

"Yes - you have my solemn word," Brynne said with a chuckle. "I've never had to resort to those types of methods to acquire work."

Andrews reached out and brushed a streak of dark hair from her smiling face. "The receptionist led you into my office, and I remember thinking that you were about one of the loveliest things I'd ever laid eyes on. I had to remind myself that you were a professional who had a job to do, not some angel sent down just for me. We chatted for a bit, and I showed you around the office, and then it was down to business.

"I knew you were special, right from the start. I'd been courting a young lady named Helen, but after a number of months, we mutually decided that our relationship would not progress beyond dear friendship, so we parted ways. She married a few months after, and I began to ponder whether I was destined to live out my life as a bachelor. Then I met you, and wouldn't fate have it that the one time I meet a woman I could see myself marrying, she's a subordinate. For so long, I wanted to ask your permission to call on you, but I was afraid that you would think it highly inappropriate, and you wouldn't have been wrong to think so. But when I found out that you were alone in the city and that you didn't have an escort to and from the office, I felt that perhaps this was a golden opportunity. And it was."

"And the rest is history," Brynne said.

"An amazing history," Andrews amended. He leaned in and kissed her.

Brynne had known the kiss was coming, yet she'd still been surprised. She closed her eyes and returned his kiss. Hearing more of their history together lifted a considerable amount of guilt from her shoulders, but the important thoughts from earlier remained. If the conclusions she'd reached only a few minutes before had any merit in them, there was much more at stake than her well being or that of a mere passenger liner in the North Atlantic.

---

When Brynne woke the next morning, she was alone. Her eyes landed on the clock on the mantle, and she realized why she was alone. It was 8:27 a.m. She bolted upright in the bed. Andrews had, no doubt, left hours earlier on his rounds of inspections and note-taking. Brynne had intended to join him. Inspections, as she'd discovered during her first trip, were an excellent way to gain access to all areas of the ship without restriction and without arousing suspicion. She'd wanted to get up two hours earlier, but apparently, she'd overslept. She whipped the bed sheets back and froze. She was naked.

The moment she'd opened her eyes, nothing but thoughts of her mission had occupied her mind. She'd forgotten about all what had happened the previous night. She and Andrews had taken dinner in the saloon, they'd taken a stroll around the Promenade deck. Then they'd come back to the stateroom for the evening. They'd talked, they'd kissed, they'd ...

Brynne's eyes widened at her recollection of the night. They'd kissed, and then Andrews had made love to her. When Brynne had learned that they were married, she'd figured it wouldn't be long before it happened, especially since this was supposed to be their honeymoon. But when it had actually occurred, the experience had been much different from what she'd expected. Different in a very good way.

Brynne reclined into the bed, reminiscing about the night. Andrews had given Brynne the same detailed attention that he always gave to his work, and the results were impossible to deny. The pressing, disturbing thoughts of the mission had floated away, and she'd let her body give in to the moment. He was nowhere near her now, but she could still feel the lingering sensation of his hands on her body, of his lips, of the warmth of his body next to hers. A languid smile slowly spread across her features. The grin left almost as quickly as it had appeared as Jeremy crept back into her thoughts again. From Brynne's perspective, not even a week had passed since she'd shared a similar night with him.

A knock at the door broke into her thoughts. She quickly scanned the room for a dressing robe and spied one hanging over the back of a chair. Brynne slid out of bed, and the chair and robe were within arm's reach. She quickly slipped into the robe and tied it at the waist. It was Andrews's robe, though she didn't realize it until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and saw how ridiculously oversized the garment looked on her small frame. The person at the door knocked again.

"Just a moment," Brynne called. The first step she took toward the door nearly sent her sailing head first into the sink. Instead of smashing her head against it, she quickly thrust a hand out and managed to catch herself before she did any irreparable damage to her head or face.

There was another knock at the door, this one more urgent than the previous two, followed by a concerned voice. "Mrs. Andrews? Are you well?" It was Mary Sloan, the stewardess.

Brynne looked down at her feet once she steadied herself. "I'm fine, Mary. Come in," she called. A small stack of books lay toppled at her feet. When she looked up from the books, Mary was standing just inside the stateroom door.

"I came by to see if you needed help dressing for breakfast, ma'am," Mary said. "Then I heard the commotion."

"It was nothing," Brynne said. "Mr. Andrews left some of his books lying around on the floor, and I tripped over them." She kneeled to pick up the books, and Mary immediately joined her. When they'd rearranged the books into a neat stack and placed them in the chair, they both stood.

"I'm a bit out of sorts this morning, it seems," Brynne said. "I overslept. Have you seen Mr. Andrews?"

"I saw him about an hour and a half ago," Mary said, not failing to notice that Brynne was wearing Andrews's robe rather than her own.

Mary's observation didn't escape Brynne. "I couldn't find mine, and his was the closest to me when you knocked," she said, slightly embarrassed. Mary responded with an understanding the grin.

"I suppose Mr. Andrews has already begun his work for the day?" Brynne continued.

"Oh, yes, ma'am. Said he'd be stopping by the restaurant for breakfast around 8, though. I asked if he wished for you to meet him there, but he insisted that I not wake you before 8."

"It looks like I've probably missed him, then," Brynne said. She stifled a threatening yawn. "I didn't realize I was so tired."

"Will you be taking breakfast here, then, in your stateroom?" Mary asked.

"Yes," was Brynne's automatic reply.

"Very well, then, ma'am," Mary said. "I'll have it delivered momentarily." She moved toward the door.

"Mary - wait," Brynne said. She could use her time in the restaurant to scope it out for her mystery man and woman. She should've begun the previous night by keeping a keen eye out for them at dinner, but the shock of finding out that she was married to Andrews had preoccupied her so much that she'd failed to seize that opportunity. "On second thought, I think I will take breakfast in the restaurant," she said.

She only hoped her two mystery people were still aboard. It was possible that they'd disembarked at Cherbourg the previous night, or that they were planning to disembark today at Queenstown. If what Brynne had figured out the night before was true, she couldn't figure out how remaining onboard for the entire voyage was necessary for them to complete their mission. But if there was a chance that either of them was still onboard, she had to take every opportunity to find them.


	19. Whispers

Chapter 19 - Whispers

Brynne finally made it to the a la carte restaurant a little after 9:30. She knew that Andrews wouldn't still be there, but she went anyway – she still needed to eat. When she arrived, she took a seat at a table for two in a corner, and a waiter promptly approached. Brynne already knew what she wanted, which she quickly conveyed to the waiter.

The waiter scurried away to the galley, and Brynne began to scope out the crowd. She hoped that she was wrong about the true nature of her mission, that her two mystery adversaries were indeed onboard, that this mission had nothing to do with the links going down. But all while she scanned the room, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was carrying out her search in vain. The female imposter and her likely accomplice probably weren't anywhere near this ship anymore.

As he'd done the previous night, Andrews once again found his way into Brynne's thoughts. "Good morning," his voice cheerily called out to her from behind.

Brynne shifted in her chair to look over her shoulder. Andrews gently caressed her shoulder as he walked past on his way to the empty seat across from her.

"Well, good morning to you," Brynne greeted, arched eyebrows raised. She watched Andrews place his small notebook on the table as he sat. "I thought you already had breakfast?"

"I had a little something, but I decided to wait for you before I had a full meal," Andrews explained.

"What if I hadn't made it or had decided to go to the saloon instead?" Brynne asked. "How did you know I'd be here at this time?"

"Well, it's a matter of deduction," Andrews began. "You hate sleeping late – you feel like you've wasted half the day when you sleep past seven, so I knew you'd be up sooner rather than later. Also, you mentioned on more than one occasion how excited you were about the restaurant, and I knew you haven't had the opportunity to dine here before now, so it was a safe bet that the saloon would be your second choice, not your first. As to the time, I checked in every now and then while I was working."

"I'm glad you were right," Brynne said, impressed by his powers of deductive reasoning. "I wasn't looking forward to dining by myself."

Andrews grinned at her as the waiter returned with meals for two instead of one. As the waiter placed the meals on the table, Brynne, confused, looked at Andrews again. "You already ordered, too?" she asked.

Andrews's smile evolved into a chuckle. Brynne smiled, unfolding her napkin and spreading it across her lap. "How has your morning been?" she asked.

"A few problems here and there," Andrews replied. "Mostly a lot of little things that need to be addressed. Nothing too taxing."

Brynne picked up her fork. She was about to ask him about the fire in coal bunker 10, but she held back. That fire might not have happened in this timeline. It was best to let him mention it, if there was anything to mention.

"I meant to join you this morning, but I overslept," Brynne said.

"I was going to wake you, but you were sleeping so soundly," Andrews said. "And it is a honeymoon, after all."

"It's a maiden voyage. A honeymoon can wait."

"It can. But it won't. Not this time," Andrews said, determination coloring his tone. "It's no secret that I devote a lot of time to my work, but I don't want you to get the notion that I will set it as a priority above you."

"Thomas, I know that," Brynne said. Hearing his first name come from her own mouth felt and sounded so strange to her, but calling him 'Mr. Andrews' didn't seem appropriate, especially after the night they'd shared last night. Her eyes met his briefly and a blush came to her cheeks at the memory of what had transpired the previous night. "What's on the schedule for today?"

Andrews's brows knitted slightly. "I hadn't anticipated many problems," he said, "but I never expected so few."

"That isn't a bad thing," Brynne said. "Don't sound so disappointed. It's a testament to the firm's work."

Andrews sighed. "The hot press in the first-class galley hasn't been working properly, the pebble-dashing on the private promenade decks is too dark, and there are too many screws in the coat hooks in the staterooms. Other than that, she's nearly as perfect as human brains can make her."

"Pebble-dashing and coat hook screws? That's what's occupying your time? That really is the bottom of the barrel as far as problems are concerned, isn't it?"

"I suppose, but there's always room for improvement. Always." Andrews gazed out the window beside their table. "It's funny how much a person changes during their lifetime. People call me a perfectionist now, but when I was a boy, I was a mediocre student, at best." He turned his attention back to his meal. "Except for when it came to ships."

"I don't think I would believe it if you told me there was a time when you weren't interested in boats," Brynne said, smiling.

"They used to call me 'Admiral' because I was always building models ..." Andrews said, his voice trailing as he reminisced. "... Have you seen Ismay this morning?"

"No. Why?"

"I ran into him earlier. He wants you to socialize more with the first-class ladies. He wants people to know all about your involvement with Titanic. He says it'll be good for White Star. And Harland and Wolff."

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised at the fact that he wants to profit from the novelty of my presence," Brynne said, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "What does he want me to do? Make a greater effort to chit-chat more?"

"Yes, and he wants you to begin today by having lunch with a group of women from first-class. Then he wants you to start giving daily tours, targeted at the female passengers, to better acquaint them some areas of the ship that will be of interest to them."

"I'll assume that doesn't include the engine room," Brynne said, her voice saturated in sarcasm.

* * *

Ruth DeWitt Bukater and Lucille Duff Gordon sat across from each other in the First-Class Lounge taking tea when Brynne walked in accompanied by a small group of ladies, having just concluded her very first ladies tour. Madeleine Astor, Molly Brown and Madame Aubert comprise the intimate tour group.

When the group of outcasts walked in, Ruth zeroed in on them like a vulture does its prey. "Don't look now, but Brynne Andrews just walked into the room with that Brown woman, Mrs. Astor, and Madame Aubert," she said discreetly from behind her raised tea cup.

Lucille didn't need to look over her shoulder at the group to comment. "How scandalous," she said. "But they are all well-suited for each other. I can't imagine the embarrassment if any of them approached our table."

"To be fair, one really can't place too much blame upon the shoulders of young Mrs. Astor," Ruth said, in a rare moment of compassion. "Mr. Astor is the real culprit. Divorcing his wife and running off with that child. What position was she in to refuse him, given his influence and his generous assets?"

"How very true," Lucille concurred. "I'm afraid the same can't be said of Madame Aubert. Both she and Mr. Guggenheim ought to be ashamed of themselves, parading around without the least bit of modesty. And Mrs. Guggenheim at home with the children … oh, it's just dreadful."

"I suppose you might say the same about Mrs. Andrews," Ruth said. "Really, carrying on in such a way. She has no business meddling in men's work and in the affairs of her husband. Mr. Andrews, the poor dear – he seems to have lost all manner of control over his wife."

"Dear, from what I hear, he never had any control," Lucille chimed.

The Countess of Rothes approached the table at this point. "Good afternoon, ladies," she greeted. A waiter promptly seated her at the table, as Lucille and Ruth greeted the Countess.

"You're just in time," Ruth said. "Lucille was just about to share a very interesting story about Mrs. Andrews."

Lucille looked at the Countess and nodded, continuing. "It seems that it wasn't Mr. Andrews's idea to marry - it was Mr. Ismay's. I heard from a highly reputable source that Mr. Ismay conjured up this whole scheme of having a woman ship designer. He thought it would be a priceless way to generate publicity for the Titanic. So, he brought her over from America, touting her as a highly-qualified architect. I'm sure 'highly-qualified' means a pretty face and a flattering figure. Well, of course, Mr. Andrews was against the scheme from the beginning, and he had every right to be. _He_ built this ship; why should he willingly give credit where none is due? And it must have been an even larger affront when he learned that he had to marry this girl if he wanted to keep his job and his social standing."

"How disgraceful," the Countess said.

"And now Mr. Ismay has her flouncing about all over the ship, spouting off about ships," Lucille said. "She never has anything of substance to say, and I guarantee that if someone asked her a real question, she'd end up looking quite silly without Mr. Andrews beside her to cover for her."

"I wish I had known this sooner," the Countess said. "I most certainly would not have made plans to tour the ship with her."

"What tour is that?" Ruth asked.

"She's giving tours of the ship," the Countess replied. "Apparently, her tours cater specifically to Titanic's female passengers. Mr. Ismay informed me of it all at breakfast and suggested that it would be something I would enjoy. I asked him to schedule me for tomorrow's tour. But now, I feel it necessary to cancel."

"Maybe that won't be necessary," Ruth said, an idea forming behind her twinkling green eyes. "I'd like to join you on that tour tomorrow, Countess. I should like to see this spectacle for myself. Perhaps, Lucille, we could put your little theory about Mrs. Andrews to the test."

* * *

By Friday afternoon, Brynne had gotten used to the fact that her working experience aboard the Titanic was going to differ significantly from her expectations and previous experience. She'd also gotten used to her unofficial title as 'The Women's Tour Guide', even if she detested it.

Brynne was the first to arrive at the Palm Court cafe for lunch. She and Andrews would be dining there for lunch with Ismay and a few passengers. She didn't know who the passengers were. Andrews had made the arrangements earlier in the day, and a waiter had showed her to their table. He seated her and presented her with a menu.

Ismay arrived next. The very sight of him annoyed her, but she resisted the urge roll her eyes as he approached.

"Good afternoon, Brynne," Ismay greeted as he took the seat directly to Brynne's right,76 at the end of the table. A waiter was by his side before he was even fully seated.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ismay," Brynne said as sweetly as she could manage.

"I don't know what it will take for you to call me 'Bruce'," he said lightheartedly. "I think I've tried just about everything in the book."

"I do apologize," Brynne said. "It must be the setting and all the excitement surrounding the voyage. I'll try to remember in the future."

"Don't fret, my dear lady, it's no great offense," Ismay said, smiling.

"I trust your morning has been well?" Brynne inquired.

"It has been quite pleasant, thank you," Ismay replied.

Brynne could actually not care less how pleasant Ismay's morning had been. Ultimately, he was the man responsible for what had happened– for what _would _happen to the Titanic and those aboard. It would have been a personal pleasure for her if he'd said that his morning had been rotten.

Before Brynne had an opportunity to stick her foot in her mouth by intentionally insulting Ismay, Andrews entered the restaurant through the sliding doors at the aft end of the room. Brynne grinned from ear-to-ear at the sight of him, partly because she didn't want to spend any more time alone with Ismay than she had to, but mostly because she liked spending time with him. The eager smile fell from her face when she saw who entered behind him. Ruth DeWitt Bukater, her daughter Rose, and Rose's fiance Caledon Hockley. There had been a chance that they weren't the passengers she, Andrews, and Ismay were to dine with, but that chance evaporated when Andrews turned and spoke with them as they all walked. They got closer to the table and it became clear to Brynne that Andrews was leading them to the table.

Brynne closed her eyes briefly and looked down at her napkin. If she looked up or at them, her face would surely betray her feelings. Why did it have to be them? Rose was the only one of the three with any sense. Ruth and Cal were just impossible. There was a slim chance that they weren't the same. A _slim_ chance.

"Bruce," Hockley said, boisterously greeting Ismay with a firm handshake.

"Cal," Ismay said. "I see you've already become acquainted with Mr. Andrews. I'd like to introduce you to his wife, Brynne."

Brynne extended her hand, which Cal grasped with a gentle, subtle shake. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Andrews," he said.

"Mrs. Andrews is one of our designers from Harland and Wolff," Ismay chimed, never missing an opportunity for valuable publicity.

"Is that so?" Hockley asked, releasing Brynne's hand. "A female 'designer', eh, Bruce? I suppose it wouldn't do to have a man picking out drapes, carpets, and the like, would it?" He seated Rose, and a waiter seated Ruth. As Cal took his own seat, directly across from Brynne, he added, "And you had to find someone to decorate the ladies' Reading and Writing Room suitably."

And with Cal's last statement, that slim possibility of character change that Brynne had briefly entertained disintegrated.

"Mrs. Andrews designed the interiors of several of our first-class amenities, including the Cafe Parisien and several staterooms," Ismay said.

"Well, I haven't had the pleasure of visiting the Reading and Writing Room, however I'm sure that it looks just as lovely as the rest of the ship," Hockley said.

The compliment that Hockley had seemed to throw Brynne's way was anything but. It was a veiled insult, mocking her abilities as a designer, and Brynne couldn't do or say a damned thing about it without committing an impropriety, which would ultimately reflect negatively on Andrews. She held her tongue and reacted only by picking up her glass and taking a sip of water.

Hockley continued. "The ship is an astounding accomplishment for both White Star and Harland and Wolff."

"She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all history," Ismay said with pride. "And our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews, here, designed her from the keel plates up."

Andrews shifted slightly in his seat, uncomfortable with the attention Ismay was throwing his way. "Well, I may have knocked her together, but it certainly wasn't my doing alone," he said. "Take this room, for instance. It's one of several designed by the talented architect on my right." He turned to Brynne, who managed a bashful grin. "Mr. Ismay and I both count ourselves as extremely fortunate that she agreed to work with us," he said.

"Were you an architect before you met Mr. Andrews?" Ruth asked, her question dripping with unflattering implications. This was her opportunity to place the plan that she and Lady Duff Gordon had hatched the previous day into action.

"Yes," Brynne answered solidly. "I worked for a firm in the States."

"You worked?" Rose asked. "As an actual architect?" Unlike her mother's question, Rose's was motivated only by fascination.

"Mrs. Andrews left an attractive position at a prominent firm in Washington, D.C., to work with us," Ismay said. "It's a miracle we were able to lure her in. We're very proud of Mrs. Andrews, so much so that we want to share her with our passengers. Mrs. Andrews is giving tours of the ship which are specifically tailored to the needs of Titanic's ladies."

"It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be part of something magnificent," Brynne said. "And I'm sure that my presence was much more to my benefit than to anyone else's. I only helped where I could. The credit truly does belong with Mr. Ismay, for it was his idea."

Andrews nodded in agreement. "He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is." Andrews slapped the table. "Willed into solid reality."

"I'd like to have the opportunity to participate in one of those tours, Mrs. Andrews," Ruth said.

Brynne looked at Ruth and smiled graciously. She had a feeling there was more to Ruth's request than was evident, but she couldn't discern what it was. "I'd be delighted if you joined me," she said. "I'm giving one this afternoon. Would that be suitable?"

Ruth nodded and smiled. "I think that would be perfect," she said.

The waiter returned to the table and began to take orders. Rose, who sat across from Andrews, lit a cigarette.

"You know I don't like that, Rose," Ruth said quietly. Rose looked at her mother and responded by expelling a thin cloud of smoke from between her lips.

"She knows," Cal said, annoyed. He snatched the cigarette away from Rose and stubbed it out. He then turned to the waiter behind them. "We'll both have the lamb, rare, with little mint sauce." The waiter moved away. "You like lamb, don't you, sweet pea?" He asked Rose as more of an afterthought than anything else.

Brynne couldn't help but witness the interaction between Cal, Ruth, and Rose, though she pretended that she wasn't paying attention. She appeared to be preoccupied for the moment with something on her plate – the pattern, imperfections in the workmanship, _anything. _She was grateful when the waiter returned with the appetizers.

"I never have been clear about who thought of the name Titanic," Brynne began in an attempt to alleviate the awkwardness of the moment. She looked at Andrews and then at Ismay. "Was it you, Bruce?"

"Yes," Ismay answered promptly. "I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury, and above all, strength."

"Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay?" Rose queried. "His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you."

Brynne brought her napkin to her mouth, attempting, but failing, to shield her threatening laughter from the rest of the table. Beside her, she could hear Andrews nearly choke on a forkful of food, as he suppressed his own laughter. Thank heavens Ismay, stunned into silence, had been looking away from them at Rose.

"What's gotten into you?" Ruth whispered to Rose. Rose didn't answer. Instead, she quickly excused herself from the table and left the restaurant.

Ruth, thoroughly embarrassed, turned to the others at the table. "I do apologize," she said.

Brynne looked at her salad as she cut through a large lettuce leaf. "She's a highly spirited girl, Mr. Hockley," she said. "It will take a very special man to handle her."

"I may have to start minding what she reads from now on, won't I, Mrs. Andrews?" Cal replied. His demeanor was smug, but his annoyance with Brynne and Rose was entrenched in his tone and handsome features.

"Freud – who is he?" Ismay asked. "Is he a passenger?"


	20. What Might've Been

Chapter 20 – What Might've Been

Brynne arrived at the Grand Staircase on D-deck and found that her tour group had already assembled. She wasn't late, but with the whole group already there, it certainly felt that way. Ruth DeWitt Bukater, The Countess of Rothes, and Lucile Duff Gordon were huddled in a little group when Brynne descended the stairs. Colonel Archibald Gracie was with them. When he cleared his throat, the women all looked in the direction of the stairs. Brynne imagined that there was something conspiratorial behind those polite smiles, but she pushed the negative thoughts away and posted on a smile of her own as she continued her descent onto the deck.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Brynne said. "And gentleman."

"I've invited Colonel Gracie to join us," Ruth said. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not in the least," Brynne said. "The tour is meant to appeal to women, but it is, by no means, meant to be exclusive. I'm happy to have you with us, Colonel Gracie." Brynne didn't miss the look that passed between Gracie and Ruth. She couldn't let go of the feeling that she was somehow being set up for something. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Brynne led the way as they left the Grand Staircase. She opened the door and led the group into a short corridor. "This corridor leads to the Reading and Writing room and the Lounge," she said. "We'll be visiting the Reading and Writing room first."

Brynne stopped at the only door on the right and gently pushed it open. Her group followed her through it.

"This is our Reading and Writing room," Brynne began in her best tour guide voice. "It's designed in the Georgian style and is intended to serve as a special retreat for Titanic's women passengers, much like the Smoking Room is a distinctively male area. The Lounge, on the other hand, was intended for use by our male and female passengers. It's just next door to the right and will be our next stop on the tour," Brynne said, ushering the little group out of the room.

"It certainly doesn't appear to be a very busy room," Lucile observed on her way out.

"There aren't nearly as many people here as there are in the Smoking Room at any given point of the day," Gracie commented.

"It hasn't been as popular as we'd hoped," Brynne admitted. "It's one of the reasons we're conducting these tours. We want to make people aware of everything the Titanic has to offer."

They reached the double-door entrance to the First-Class Lounge and entered. "This is our lounge, designed in the style of Louis XVI," Brynne began. "It's based on the Palace at Versailles, to be specific. One of the highlights of this particular room is its height. At 12 feet, 3 inches high, the Lounge's ceiling has one of the highest clearances of all the rooms aboard the Titanic. The lounge also serves as a lending library of sorts. You'll notices the large bookcase at the far end of the room. You can also take light refreshments or tea while you enjoy your book or relax with friends."

"I've noticed that the fireplace in this room is never lit," Gracie said. "The one in the Smoking room is always burning."

"That's because the fireplace in this room, as well as the one in the Reading and Writing room, were designed to be aesthetic focal points more than anything else," Brynne explained. "The ship's specifications don't allow for real, fully functioning fireplaces in these rooms."

"The Smoking Room fireplace is real," Gracie said. "How does that room accommodate a real fireplace when these do not?"

"The answer is a bit technical in nature," Brynne replied. "I'd be more than happy to discuss it, but I wouldn't want to bore the rest of the group with a lengthy explanation."

"Actually, I'm very interested in hearing the answer," Ruth said. "If that's possible."

Ruth allowed herself a small smile and exchanged a quick glance with Lucile. Exposing Brynne Andrews for a fake was going to be too easy, especially with Gracie along for the ride. He wasn't in on her little plan with Lucile, but his know-it-all personality was a huge help. Ruth had known that when she'd invited him along. She'd gambled that he was bound to ask all kinds of nitpicky little questions, and he certainly wouldn't hesitate to object to information he believed to be incorrect. Her assumptions about the colonel would be correct, it seemed.

When Brynne saw the look that passed between Lady Duff Gordon and Ruth, she knew that this was what they'd been counting on. They'd been waiting for her to make a fool of herself because they thought she wouldn't be able to answer the question. She didn't know if Gracie was in on it or not, but that was exactly what they wanted.

Brynne cleared her throat. "Well, if you really want to know, it concerns the air ducts that must be installed for a functioning fireplace," she began. She then proceeded to go into a lengthy explanation describing the design of the Smoking Room and delving into the intricacies of ventilation ducts placement for ship-board fireplaces.

When she'd completed her impromptu lecture on the peculiarities of live fireplaces and shipbuilding, the looks on Ruth's and Lady Duff Gordon's faces confirmed Brynne's theory about their intentions. Their triumphant expressions had abandoned them, and they both stood staring at Brynne in disappointed silence.

* * *

"Is anything bothering you, Brynne?" Andrews asked. He shut the door behind him after he and Brynne walked into their stateroom. "You seemed preoccupied at dinner."

It was true; Brynne had given little attention to the conversation between Andrews and Mr. and Mrs. Albert Dick during dinner. She had been thinking about what had happened on the tour earlier. It had caused her to re-examine her mission and what she was doing here.

"They tried to set me up today," Brynne said, walking to the dressing table.

"What?" Andrews asked. "Who?"

Brynne stared at her reflection in the mirror. "During the tour today, Ruth DeWitt Bukater and Lucile Duff Gordon tried to set me up," she said. "They wanted to embarrass me."

"How?"

"They invited Colonel Gracie to join our tour because they knew he would ask a lot of technical questions, questions they thought I wouldn't be able to answer. They wanted to humiliate me. What I can't understand is why."

Andrews sighed uncomfortably as he slipped out of his jacket. "I know why," he said.

Brynne expected him to say something stereotypical, such as 'she did it because she was jealous', but she still asked him, regardless. "Why?" she asked, removing her earrings.

"There's a rumor circulating that you're not a real architect and that our marriage is nothing more than a publicity stunt designed to draw attention for the Titanic," Andrews revealed.

Brynne had not been expecting to hear that news. She stared at Andrews in the mirror for a shocked moment before turning to face him directly. "What? They think I'm a fraud?"

Truthfully, that's what she was, being an undercover COSI agent. But that was beside the point. The bigger problem was that she was having difficulty convincing the temporal natives of her cover, and that presented a potentially disastrous problem. They didn't know that she was an agent from the future, but they had caught on that something wasn't quite right, and that was enough to put the mission in jeopardy.

Brynne pulled herself taller. "Okay, then," she said. "If that's what they think, that's what they think. But I won't display myself like a target for them any longer with those tours. I thought they were a good idea at first, but maybe they never were. For all I know, Ruth Bukater could represent the sentiments of the majority of first-class women."

Brynne couldn't afford to play anymore of these childish games with these people. She needed to get off this ship before the mission further compromised. She couldn't abandon it, though, without making one last good-faith effort to find her targets. She still had Saturday. Getting rid of the tour would give her enough time to do a proper search of second- and third-class. She would go down to the common areas there and search for the man and woman. If she didn't find them by Saturday night, she would have to call it a mission and head home.

* * *

Saturday was a huge disappointment. Brynne's search throughout the lower decks had yielded nothing of value. She'd spent the whole day trolling through second- and third-class and had been unable to find any sign of her look-alike or the mysterious man. And to top off the day, she and Andrews had had dinner in the saloon, at Ismay's request, with none other than Ruth Bukater and her crew. Brynne would have preferred to spend the evening stabbing herself in the back of the hand with the salad fork. But it was over now, and she'd probably never see Bukater and her clan again, if she were lucky.

It was early Sunday morning, before dawn. Brynne lay on her back in bed, looking up at the ceiling contemplating her next move. There wasn't much to contemplate, really, about what the next step would be. Her next step was as clear as day to her: she had to reactivate the link and leave. It was that simple.

Or was it? Beside Brynne, Andrews lay sleeping, his breaths slow and deep and his arm draped across her bare stomach. Going back home should be a simple move to make, but her stupid feelings had found a way to interfere again and make things much more difficult than they need be.

She looked at Andrews. How the hell had this happened? How the hell had she fallen in love with a man more than a hundred years her senior? It had been easy enough, given the circumstances. Why did he have to be so irresistibly likeable and handsome? That combination would undoubtedly tempt any single woman, but to be suddenly thrust into the situation as his _wife_ – had Brynne ever stood a chance? It would have been so much easier if he'd been a jerk.

First Jeremy Bratt, now Thomas Andrews. She couldn't keep doing this to herself or to COSI. Two failed missions in a row? She was a liability, and she obviously wasn't cut out for this type of work. She'd work behind the scenes at headquarters or fill whatever other role needed to be filled. Whatever it was, after she used a link to get home, she was never going to set foot inside another one again.

Brynne watched Andrews's face intently as she slowly, carefully extricated herself from his limp grip without waking him. Her disappearance would surely be a mystery, and there was no way to do this without hurting him. She couldn't take him with her. She'd made that mistake before, and it hadn't worked out well.

Brynne pulled on her robe and tied it closed. She picked up her wrist unit and clasped it around her wrist. Then she froze and looked at Andrews. What would she accomplish by leaving him here? According to the original timeline, he died when Titanic sunk, and his body was never recovered. If she waited until night, if they didn't leave until almost the last moment before the ship sank, history would record that they'd both died in the sinking and that neither of their bodies were found.

It was an intriguing prospect. Intriguing but very risky. So many things in the timeline had already been changed. Who's to say the Titanic would even sink this time around? Brynne would have a hell of a situation on her hands if it didn't. She could only imagine what would happen if the ship survived but the shipbuilder mysteriously disappeared.

No, Brynne decided. It was best – for everyone – if she just went back as soon as possible, meaning as soon as she could get dressed and get the link open. She quietly opened the wardrobe and pulled out the dress she'd been wearing when she'd first stepped onto the ship a few days earlier. She slipped out of the stateroom into the adjoining bathroom.

Half an hour later, she was ready to go, looking exactly as she had when she'd first arrived, wearing exactly the same clothing. Except …

She looked down at her left hand. Except for the wedding band and engagement ring on her left ring finger. She slipped them off. She didn't want to take them with her. They would only serve as a reminder of something she couldn't have. Very slowly, Brynne twisted the doorknob to the stateroom and eased it open. Andrews had shifted position in the bed, but he was still asleep. Brynne tiptoed inside and gently placed the two rings on the table in the center of the room. She should have just turned around and tiptoed back out; instead, she stood there, gazing at Andrews as she briefly entertained prospects of what might have been with him. She knew he would be confused, hurt, and possibly angry when he would not be able to locate her in a few hours. Everyone would probably conclude that she'd fallen overboard. But Andrews wouldn't have long to grieve her loss. That was Brynne's one bittersweet comfort about this whole mess. Andrews wouldn't have long to grieve for her because he would soon be grieving something much larger – the loss of Titanic and, ultimately, himself.


	21. You Give Me Something

Chapter 21 – You Give Me Something

Brynne knew they were only doing their jobs, but did the stewardesses have to attend the lavatories at _all_ times? Brynne had intended to open the link in the bathroom she'd first arrived in, but when she opened the door, she found a stewardess patiently waiting there for anyone who might need her services. Out of curiosity, she went down one deck to B-deck and checked both of the ladies public lavatories. Sure enough, she found a stewardess on duty in each of them. Granted, it was early morning, and they probably hadn't been there all night. They probably only had to be available this early to assist passengers who were early risers. But still, it was incredibly annoying.

Brynne looked at her wrist unit. First light was a little over an hour away, and she didn't have time to search all the bathrooms on Titanic for one without an attendant. She had another idea, though.

* * *

By the time Brynne reached the poop deck, the sun was still an hour away. She'd been right about this part of the ship being deserted at this time of the morning. There was no one around anywhere, not even crew.

Her body facing the stern of the ship, Brynne checked over her shoulder one last time for any sign of others before she pushed back her sleeve and activated her wrist unit. It clicked and beeped for a few seconds. Brynne looked at the large open space in front of her that comprised the poop deck of the R.M.S. Titanic. The air around her crackled, and cracks of light began to form directly in front of her, which Brynne recognized as the initial stages of link formation. She watched intently and waited.

But nothing happened. The cracks of light faded into nothing. Brynne looked down at her wrist unit. It had gone silent and dark. She tried entering a few different code combinations into the device, but it had no effect. The wrist appeared to be dead.

"Shit!" she whispered.

"Can I help you with something, ma'am?"

Brynne whirled around and found William Murdoch, the ship's first officer, standing behind her.

"Mrs. Andrews," Murdoch said, trying to conceal his mild shock. He hadn't expected her to be the woman he'd just heard curse. He wondered what had caused her to utter that type of language. She'd sounded frustrated about something.

"Mr. Murdoch," Brynne said, taking a calming sigh. "You surprised me."

"My apologies, ma'am," Murdoch said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Brynne smiled. "It's no problem, Mr. Murdoch."

"Are you making the rounds with Mr. Andrews this morning?" Murdoch asked.

"No, I came out to take in the sunrise," Brynne answered. "I've seen so many sunsets, but I rarely ever take to time to see a sunrise."

Murdoch didn't quite believe her explanation, given her recent exclamation, but he grinned all the same. It wasn't his place to pry. "Well, you've picked a top-notch spot," he said. "It's one of the best places on the ship to enjoy a good view, in my opinion, especially a sunrise." He took a moment to survey the view, as if personally affirming his declaration that the poop deck was best for sight-seeing.

At last, he turned back to Brynne, who was trying her best to look serene. Murdoch wasn't buying it. Something was gnawing at her. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Murdoch." Brynne watched him go. It had been too close of a call. There hadn't been much of anything for Murdoch to see, but what if the link had opened as it was supposed to? Murdoch would've surely discovered more than just a cursing woman on the poop deck.

Brynne walked over and sat on a bench facing the port side of the ship. The last time she'd been on this bench, she'd nearly been strangled to death by an assailant, the man she'd been searching in vain for this whole mission. She looked out at the ocean. The sun was still below the horizon, but the first light of morning was beginning to gently glow where the sky met the sea.

So, the link hadn't worked. She hadn't even been able to get a link to form, and she didn't know what had gone wrong. She didn't exactly know all the implications, though she knew at least two possibilities: Either the inability to create a link was a temporary situation caused by some combination of factors, or it was permanent.

Brynne didn't want to dwell on the probability of the latter. If the condition were permanent, it meant she could be stuck here in this temporal progression for God knows how long. The only comforting fact was that Payton had assured her that COSI would locate her and bring her home.

But there was no guarantee all that would be necessary.

It was far more likely that Brynne's inability to establish a link was a temporary circumstance, a glitch that could be remedied at some later date. Maybe it was that she was outside or too far away from the original entry point. Maybe she wouldn't be able to open a link until she reached a certain point in the timeline. It could be any number of things.

That's what she wanted to believe, anyway. It's what she had to believe if she wanted to keep herself calm and sane for the rest of this mission.

Brynne closed her eyes. She'd considered herself relatively lucky up to this point. She hadn't had to live through the nightmarish sinking of the Titanic during her first trip – the ship hadn't even gone down. But now it looked like she wouldn't be able to avoid it, unless by some twist of fate, the Titanic missed the iceberg (again). Could it really (not) happen again?

_What if I have to watch him die?_

Part of Brynne's reason for wanting to get away from this ship so early was a desire to avoid having to acknowledge Andrews's fate if the Titanic ended up going down. She knew he would never leave if others remained in danger. He'd ultimately blame himself for the failure, and the Titanic would become his casket.

Brynne closed her eyes at the horrible prospect of being doomed to witness his death; not necessarily directly, but watching the ship sink and knowing that he was on it and knowing his fate was essentially the same thing. A tear escaped her shut eye and rolled down her cheek, and she silently cursed herself for being so weak. After Jeremy, she'd vowed not to become attached to anyone else while on a mission again; yet, here she was, crying because … because ...

"What is wrong with you?" she asked of herself aloud.

"Not a thing in the world."

Brynne looked over her shoulder. Andrews was only a few feet away from the bench. She had been so immersed in her thoughts, she hadn't heard him approach. He approached the bench and sat, his eyes trained on her hasty attempt to brush the fresh tears from her cheeks.

"What's wrong, Brynne?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she replied. She smiled sweetly at him, pasting on a faker-than-fake smile. Andrews didn't buy any of it, and his skeptical expression was his only reply.

"I wanted to see the sunrise," Brynne said. "I came out here to watch it, and I started thinking about how unbelievably happy I am here, with you, on this ship."

"Even with all the nonsense caused by Ruth Bukater?" Andrews asked.

Brynne nodded. "I guess thinking about it all evoked some feelings."

Andrews fished into his jacket pocket and brought out two gold rings, one of them adorned with a respectable diamond. "I found these on the table in the room."

Brynne looked down at the rings in Andrews's hand. "I must have left them there this morning when I was getting dressed," she said.

Andrews picked up Brynne's left hand and slipped the rings onto her ring finger. He then stretched out his arm and rested it across the back of the bench, inviting Brynne to move in closer. She leaned against him, resting her head against his sturdy shoulder.

The sun began to slowly rise. Brynne inhaled sharply at the sight. The light bled into the clouds hovering just above the horizon, painting pink, blue, and orange across the sky. Brynne loved sunset, but she hated how she always missed out on sunrises. Now, one was unfolding before her very eyes. She was completely at peace in this moment, and she wished she could stop time and remain frozen in the here and now forever. It was so uncomplicated, not anything akin to what her life had become in the last two years.

Brynne sighed. "I guess we should get a start on the day," she said, sitting upright.

"Let's enjoy the sunrise for a little while longer," Andrews suggested. "The work will be there to finish later today and tomorrow and the day after. Let's take advantage of this moment now."

Brynne grinned and repositioned herself against Andrews. They remained like that, watching the sea and the sun until the first passengers of the day began to appear on deck. If only it were true, what Andrews had just said. But it wasn't. Not for him. There would be no tomorrow or the day after for him.

Brynne could not keep the next tear from falling.

* * *

"I'll see you at lunch, then?" Brynne asked, rising from the small table she and Andrews had shared in the saloon. Breakfast was over for her and Andrews and many others as well. Many were leaving, and stewards were beginning to prepare the saloon for worship service.

"Lunch," Andrews repeated. "Yes." Now it was he who appeared distracted. Brynne didn't think twice about it, though. He was often preoccupied with details about the ship.

"You can pick where, it doesn't matter to me," Brynne said. She and Andrews walked toward the saloon's aft entrance.

"Brynne – I know this trip hasn't been the most pleasant," Andrews said.

"This isn't supposed to be a pleasure cruise," Brynne said. "I'm not a passenger. I'm not here to have fun, I'm here to work."

"And you've been doing an excellent job. But don't you think you deserve a little rest?"

"Are the others taking a rest today?" Brynne asked, referring to the other members of the Harland and Wolff group onboard.

"No, but their situation is different than yours. They haven't had to deal with the same pressures that you have."

Brynne didn't have a response. She knew Andrews's reasoning was sound and that he spoke the truth. But that didn't stop her from trying to come up with some type of rebuttal.

They left the saloon and entered the crew area adjacent to the first- and second-class galley. "What would you have me do?" Brynne asked. "Loaf about all day?"

"Honestly, yes," Andrews answered. "I want you to relax today. Go spend some time in the Turkish Bath, maybe watch a squash match or two, read a book."

"I can't do that."

"Of course you can. It's easy enough if you give it a try."

Brynne nodded slowly, as an idea formed in her head. "You've changed your mind."

"About what?"

"About me. About having a working wife," Brynne clarified. "Now that you know what kind of reaction to expect, you're embarrassed, and you want me to be a regular wife."

In a swift movement, Andrews kissed Brynne with an intensity that threw her off-balance and sent her stumbling back a few paces. The members of the galley staff who weren't busy (but probably should have been) with preparations for the religious service paused to stare at the amorous couple. Andrews didn't seem to notice. He reached out and caught Brynne around the waist, pulling her body tight against his. This was definitely not the behavior of a man ashamed of his wife.

"Do you still think I'm embarrassed?" he asked, his face still mere centimeters from hers. She shook her head 'no'. His embrace relaxed. "I'm just trying to look out for you, Brynne. I don't want you worrying yourself to death over any of this. You need your rest. You deserve it."

Brynne looked up into Andrews's deep brown eyes and felt the butterflies in her stomach speed up exponentially. She was swooning because of him– again – and she saw no use in trying to fight it.

* * *

Brynne had told Andrews she would go spend some time enjoying the ship's amenities, and she did go have a peek at the Turkish bath, swimming bath, and squash court, even though she'd seen them all before. But after those little diversions, she went back to the stateroom, where she spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what was wrong with her wrist unit and how she might be able to fix it. She'd stopped to go meet Andrews for lunch in the Cafe Parisien, but she'd returned to the stateroom immediately after to resume work.

Andrews returned to the stateroom around 6:00. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" he asked about half an hour later. He slipped into his jacket as he finished dressing for dinner. "I promise it will be better than last night. We'd be with the Dicks and Dr. O'Loughlin. No Ismay, no Hockley, no Ruth Bukater."

Brynne couldn't spare any time to go to dinner. Her time was beginning to run out, and she needed to repair her wrist unit. "I'll be fine here," she said. "I feel like I need to rest some more in the room."

"I'll tell Mary to have a meal brought here to you, then," Andrews said. He left just before 7:00, and Mary Sloan, their stewardess, showed up at around 7:15, ready to take Brynne's order.

By 8:00 that evening, Brynne was still unable to repair her wrist unit or establish a link. Maybe it was still too early. But how much longer would she have to wait? In less than four hours, the ship would hit the berg. In less than seven hours, she would be gone … _if_ the original timeline had been restored.


	22. Nowhere to Run

Chapter 22 - Nowhere to Run

At exactly 9:32 p.m., Brynne's wrist unit came to life. She was sipping on after-dinner tea, deep in thought, when the beeping brought her out of it. She set the half-empty cup of tea down on the dinner cart, and picked up the unit, which she'd set aside on the table with Andrews's blueprints. She immediately calibrated it to open a link back to 2009.

The timing couldn't be more perfect. Andrews was still at dinner, and there was absolutely no one around to witness Brynne's disappearance. She rose from her seat in front of the dinner cart and pointed the wrist unit at the wall in front of her.

"Come on, come on, come on," Brynne urged. She didn't know when Andrews was returning, but she had to get this done before he came in and caught her. She could hear the sounds that accompanied link formation, just as she'd heard earlier that morning out on the deck.

She could also hear footsteps that sounded as if they were approaching the stateroom door, but they could only be someone walking past the room. Brynne listened – those footsteps _were _coming closer. They were right outside the door. It must be Andrews – he was back from dinner.

When Brynne heard the doorknob turn, she quickly shut off the wrist unit, aborting the link. She turned and leaped toward the dressing table, which is where she was calmly sitting when the door opened, and Andrews entered.

"How was dinner?" Brynne asked him, the picture of serenity.

"Peaceful," Andrews replied, closing the door behind him. "Of course, everyone asked about you. Are you feeling better?"

"Much, thank you," Brynne said, her eyes coming to rest on the simple brown package in Andrews's hands. "What's that?"

"Well, I know that the last few days haven't exactly been ideal," he began, "so, yesterday, I put in a request with Mr. Joughin, the baker." He presented the package to her.

Still seated at the dressing table, Brynne took the package and, with much curiosity, began to open it. "Raisin bread," she said upon discovering the contents. She looked up at Andrews in disbelief. Raisin bread was her favorite type of bread.

"Cinnamon raisin bread, to be precise," Andrews said. "I know it isn't much, but I hope it makes the trip at least a little better for you."

Brynne set the partially wrapped bread down on the dressing table and stood. Apparently, Andrews knew her better than she expected, which was yet another reason why she had to get out of here. What else did he know about her?

Regardless, the gesture was still incredibly sweet of him. Brynne kissed him and thanked him before retreating to the bathroom to change for bed. Even though she wasn't planning on sleeping at all, she had to maintain appearances to keep from arousing suspicion from Andrews. She couldn't very well remain dressed in regular day clothes all night for no apparent reason.

She studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. No matter what she did, things kept getting more complicated, like fate was working against her. She'd had all the time in the world today by herself, but the wrist unit hadn't worked then. Now, the wrist unit worked, but she had to figure out how to get away from everyone so that she could use it.

Where was a place on the ship that was likely to be deserted at this hour? It was only 10:00. Many passengers would have already retired for the night, but it was still relatively early, and a few people would likely still be in the public rooms. She'd already tried the public lavatories earlier, finding that they were never _completely_ empty.

What about the cargo hold? Brynne had completely forgotten about it, but it seemed like it could be an ideal place. Why hadn't she considered it earlier? The only problem was that she needed to conjure up a reason to go out at this time of night (and alone, to boot) when she'd spent nearly the entire day in the stateroom on the basis of feeling tired and under-the-weather. She could pick a fight with Andrews and storm out. It wouldn't be pretty, but it would get the job done.

Brynne turned her back to the mirror and leaned against the sink, rejecting the idea. She couldn't bring herself to do that. There was absolutely nothing about him that she could harp on. He'd just brought her raisin bread, for goodness sake. Besides, if she left, he'd probably come after her anyway. It would be the same if she just walked out suddenly without resorting to an argument. He'd wonder what was wrong and come after her, trying to fix it.

This wouldn't be a problem if Andrews were asleep. She'd be able to simply sneak out as she'd done earlier. But it was only 10:00, and she seriously doubted he'd be calling it a night this early. She needed a way to get him into bed early.

Brynne opened the bathroom door. Sure enough, just as she'd guessed he would be, Andrews was seated at the table, his eyes already glued to blueprints. He hadn't even changed out of his dinner clothes, yet. Brynne deftly crossed the short distance to the table, taking care to avoid the books on the floor. He hadn't even noticed her until he felt her arms gently snaking around his shoulders and over his chest. Leaning over him, Brynne kissed him on the cheek, her loose brown locks brushing against his face and neck.

"Why don't you come to bed?" she beckoned.

Andrews responded to her with a simple peck on the back of her hand, but he barely looked away from his work. "I will, darling, in just a little while," he said.

Brynne reached forward and gently pulled the pencil from his grasp, causing him to finally tear his intent, brown-eyed gaze away from the blueprints. Brynne kissed him on the lips, trying to make him forget about everything ship-related. It must have worked because he finally rose, turned off the lamp on the table, and retreated to the bed with Brynne.

Brynne felt like such a sleaze. Without a doubt, she was enjoying the moment as much as Andrews, but her motives were hardly transparent. Andrews was simply making love to his wife; Brynne, on the other hand, had pursued this course of action because it was the best way she knew put him to sleep besides sleeping pills, which she didn't possess at the moment. When it came down to it, she was manipulating him. She didn't like it; she hated it. But she couldn't think of a better way.

---

The telephone rang at 11:03. Brynne was already wide awake when the ringing ripped through the silence in the room. She silently cursed the phone and whoever was calling on the other end. Andrews had nearly drifted off to sleep, and this stupid call was threatening to ruin her plan. She catapulted from the bed and caught the phone at the beginning of the second ring.

"Hello?" she whispered into the telephone. Her eyes remained trained on Andrews, who yawned, moved a little, and still seemed to be well on his way to sleep.

"_This is Mr. Boxhall. There's been an accident."_

"An accident?" Brynne repeated. She picked up Andrews's pocketwatch and checked the time. It was only a little past 11:00. What accident? Titanic hadn't even hit the iceberg, yet.

"Who is it, Brynne?" Andrews asked groggily, his eyes still closed.

"It's Boxhall calling from the Bridge," Brynne replied. "He says there's been some kind of accident."

Andrews's eyes opened and he pushed himself into a sitting position. The bed sheets wrapped about him, he scooted to the edge of the bed. Brynne handed the phone to him. "Mr. Boxhall – this is Mr. Andrews speaking," he said. "What's happened?"

Brynne picked up her bathrobe and slipped into it. She knew that Andrews was awake now, and would probably return to his work as soon as he hung up the phone.

"What ..." Andrews said, still listening. Something in his voice made Brynne freeze. She turned the on the lamp on the table. "I'm on my way," Andrews said. He hung up the phone and sprung to action, making a beeline to the wardrobe.

"What is it?" Brynne asked. "What did he say?"

"We've struck ice," Andrews said, quickly pulling on clothes.

"_What?_" Brynne asked. How was this possible? This wasn't supposed to happen for another half-hour.

Andrews pulled on a pair of pants, followed by a shirt. "We may be taking on water," he said. "They don't know for sure, yet."

Brynne tried to figure out a reason why this was happening so soon. Then she stopped. It didn't matter. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for. With Andrews gone, Brynne could open her link and leave without any interference.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked him.

Andrews slid into a suit jacket and walked over to Brynne. "Get dressed, but stay here for now," he instructed. "I'll call you as soon as I know more." He kissed her quickly, and then he was gone.

Brynne peeled off her robe and quickly dressed herself. She knew what was going to happen, even if the timing was off. She knew the tone in Boxhall's voice: excited and perhaps a bit nervous. She knew what Andrews, the carpenter, and Captain Smith would find when they examined the ship. She knew what Andrews's assessment would be. And she knew who would live and who would die.

As soon as she finished dressing, Brynne picked up her wrist unit and immediately activated it.

Well … she _tried_ to activate it.

"No, no, no!" Brynne exclaimed. The unit was malfunctioning again. "Not again, damnit!" She pressed the little buttons on the unit repeatedly with no positive result. Disgusted, she tossed the device onto the bed and plopped down beside it. Now, what was she supposed to do? She sighed. The only thing she could do was wait for Andrews to call.

And he did, about half an hour after he'd first left their stateroom. The telephone rang around 11:30.

"Hello?" Brynne answered.

"Brynne." It was Andrews.

"What's going on?" Brynne asked.

"The worst that could possibly happen," Andrews said. "A situation we never anticipated has occurred. We struck at such an angle that the first five water tight compartments have been breached and are being flooded as we speak. The forepeak, the cargo holds, one of the boiler rooms – they're all flooded."

'So that's it,' Brynne thought. 'It's confirmed. It's started. Ahead of schedule, somehow, but it's begun.' And the cargo holds, a.k.a her escape route back to her own time, were now out of the question.

Andrews continued. "She won't make it through the night, Brynne."

Brynne had known what he would say, but that didn't make it any easier for her to hear. It sealed his fate, while hers was left hanging in the balance. She'd become like so many other women who would be widows before dawn.

Brynne cleared her throat, warding off any threatening tears. "What's the next step?" she asked Andrews.

"The captain has ordered that the boats be uncovered," Andrews said. "Every boat needs to be filled to capacity."

"Of course," Brynne said.

"I need you to tell everyone you see to put on a lifebelt and get up to the boat deck."

"I understand," she said.

"Be sure to wear yours as well, to set an example," Andrews added.

"Of course," she said.

"And Brynne – I don't want you lingering on the ship for too long. Leave on one of the early boats."

"Leave?" Brynne said. She was leaving, alright, but not in a boat. "What about you?"

"Promise me that you'll go, Brynne."

"Listen to me – no one knows exactly what's going to happen. You can't just condemn yourself. You've got to give yourself a chance."

"Please, Brynne – promise."

Any further argument would be in vain, Brynne knew, so she conceded. "I promise," she said. "I promise." It wasn't a lie, but it felt like one to Brynne. She'd be going, but not in a way Andrews or any other person on the ship knew about.

"Meet me on the boat deck in half an hour," Andrews said. "I want to put you in a boat myself."

Brynne heard the click on the line as Andrews hung up the phone. She hung up, too, and immediately picked up her wrist unit. She tried to activate it again, but it was no use; it was still dead. What was wrong with this thing? There had to be something she could do to get it to work again.

She sat down on the bed. What the hell was she going to do? If she couldn't get the link up again, she'd be stuck on this ship. Forget the ship; if she survived the sinking, she'd be stuck in this timeline. It was a scary prospect. Payton had assured her that COSI would find her if that happened … but what if they didn't? Even if they did, _when_ would it happen?


	23. Out of Touch, Out of Time

Chapter 23 – Out of Touch, Out of Time

Nearly half an hour later, Brynne was nowhere near the boat deck. She was down in third-class trying to help those whom everyone else seemed to have forgotten. The route from most third-class areas to the upper decks was not a direct one, especially for the passengers who couldn't read or speak English. Brynne had already successfully led one group to the boat deck, and now she was returning for her second group.

---

Andrews scanned the boat deck, fore and aft, for Brynne, but he couldn't spot her. In fact, he saw no one out on deck except for the crew fumbling with the davits. The crew didn't know what they were doing, as they were unfamiliar with the Welin davits and hadn't had a boat drill; the monstrous din resulting from the steam venting from the funnel pipes surely didn't help matters.

Andrews hurried over to Chief Officer Wilde who supervised the deck crew as they prepared the lifeboats for launch.

"Mr. Wilde," Andrews yelled over the roar of the steam, "where are all the passengers?"

"They've all gone back inside," Wilde yelled back. "Too damn cold and noisy for them."

Andrews pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Over half an hour had passed since he'd called Brynne. She should've been out on deck, along with the other passengers. There wasn't a moment to spare.

Andrews stepped inside the first-class foyer entrance. The atmosphere was a cocktail party with topcoats, hats, and lifebelts. He hadn't wanted to cause a panic, but he'd certainly expected there to be more urgency than this. A waiter appeared at his side, offering him a drink from the tray expertly balanced on his hand, but Andrews moved away from him without a word. A stiff drink wasn't a bad idea, he thought. Maybe it would keep him calm and help him make sense of this disaster. But he decided that the best thing he could do, at least for now, was to keep a clear head.

He moved to the Grand Staircase and peered over the banister. Mary Sloan was near the bottom of the stairs one deck below on A-deck. Andrews trotted down the steps to meet her.

"Mary," he called out to her as he cleared the last steps. "Have you seen my wife?"

Mary regarded him somewhat guiltily for a moment before answering. "She went down to third class."

"Third Class?! What is she doing down there?" Andrews asked, his eyes going wide with surprise and worry.

"She went down to help the third-class passengers," Mary replied. "She's leading them up to the boat deck. She's already brought one group up, and she went down for another."

Andrews was silent. His instinct was to dash down to third class to immediately retrieve her, but he knew that probably wouldn't help the situation. He didn't know where she was down there. She could've gone any number of places. He'd have a better chance of catching her when she surfaced again on the upper decks.

Interpreting Andrews's silence as anger, Mary spoke up in Brynne's defense. "She said there was no one down there to help them. She wanted to give them a chance."

Andrews relaxed his tensed features and even offered a small grin to Mary. He patted her on the shoulder. "Thank you, Mary," he said. Mary began to move away. "Mary?"

The young woman stopped and turned back to Andrews. "Sir?"

"Put on a lifebelt," he said. "Set an example."

"Oh, but sir, they do look quite mean," Mary responded.

Andrews quickly crossed the small gap between them. "Go and put one on, if you value your life," he said. His voice was quiet but urgent. "And tell everyone you see to do so, as well."

The urgency in his voice surprised Mary, but it wasn't lost on her. She nodded. "Yes, sir," she said.

"We've been able to contact a nearby ship with the wireless," Andrews said, his voice still low. "She's only a few miles from us, and she'll be here shortly. We're going to transport the Titanic's passengers using the lifeboats, but there's still a great potential for a significant loss of life if we're not careful. I want you to calmly direct passengers to the boat deck. I know you have your duties here, but you'd do well to get away in one of the early boats. Whatever you do, it's very important that you remain calm. We can't have a panic."

"Yes, Mr. Andrews," Mary said, the seriousness of the situation settling in on her. She immediately moved off to comply with his instructions.

Andrews turned and climbed back up the Grand Staircase to the boat deck. He stepped out on the starboard side.

And there he saw her, helping First Officer Murdoch load passengers into a lifeboat. He quickly crossed the deck to her. "Brynne," he said, relieved.

She turned to him. "Sorry, I'm late," she said. "I had to pick up a few friends on the way."

"All that matters now is that you're here," Andrews said.

Brynne led Andrews away from the boat and the small crowd that had assembled. "I know you want me to get into the boat," she said, "but I'm not finished, yet."

"Brynne, you have to go now," Andrews insisted. "Please don't argue with me about this."

"But there are still hundreds of people down in third class," Brynne said. "Many of them don't even speak English. And the crew certainly hasn't been making it any easier for them. Some of the gates are locked with no one to unlock them."

"I can get someone else to help them. Right now, I'm trying to help you."

Brynne knew that she had to remain on this ship. It was her best chance for reopening the link. If she were to get on a lifeboat, there was no guarantee that she'd be able to open the link. Even if she could, the prospect of opening a link in a crowded lifeboat was not an attractive option. A rescue ship, be it the Carpathia or some other ship, wasn't much better. Her best bet was to stay on the Titanic as long as possible and link before the ship sank.

Brynne took Andrews's hands into her own. She was going to have to be manipulative again. "The truth of it is that I don't want to leave without you," she said, looking down at their clasped hands. "I can't make myself do it. I can't even bear the thought of it." She looked up at him, projecting the sincerest gaze she could conjure into his dark eyes. She whipped up some tears so that her eyes welled and watered over just so. Some of them were real, as she thought about Andrews's ultimate fate.

"If you make me go, I'll die anyway," she continued. "Don't make me do it."

"Oh, Brynne, don't cry, there's no reason to fret. Everything will work out for the best, you'll see," Andrews said. "My sweet Brynne." He pulled her into a tight embrace. "This is my fault. I should've - "

"There was nothing you could have done," Brynne said, pulling back slightly and looking up at him again. "What else could you have done? You were limited by the desires and needs of the men in charge. This mess is their fault, not yours. You built the ship to their specifications. We wouldn't be in this situation had they not ordered changes to your design. That much is certain."

Andrews kissed her forehead. "Perhaps. But we've far too much ahead of us to dwell on the particulars of what might've been."

---

Andrews twisted the doorknob of the next stateroom in his door-to-door search for stragglers. It was locked, just like scores of others before. So, as he'd done to those scores of other doors, Andrews kicked this one in and quickly stuck his head inside the cabin. Taking a quick survey, he found no one. He abandoned the room and moved on to the next one, where he repeated the process.

The evacuation had begun an hour ago. Two ships had arrived to assist with the efforts, and a third was on the way. It was good news. Most of Titanic's passengers and crew were out on the boat deck or promenade deck. But they were all still in danger. Would there be time enough to complete the evacuation? That was the critical factor.

---

Brynne didn't know the exact time, but she knew the Titanic wouldn't be afloat much longer. The ship was listing so severely now that it was difficult to walk the decks. Walking aft was like walking up a big hill; walking toward the bow was just as challenging.

Once again, history was determined not to repeat itself. Curiously, two rescue ships had come to Titanic's aid, and Brynne and learned that a third was on its way. She was glad that the loss of life would be less than in the original timeline, but that fact didn't help her any. She still needed a way off this ship and back to her own time. Furthermore, what were the implications of this new development? Would the Gigantic still sink with 3,000 fatalities?

Most of Titanic's passengers had either left in lifeboats, were out on deck, or were in the frigid waters of the Atlantic. Now was the time for Brynne to make her move to re-open the link. She didn't think there was enough time to hunt for a new location, so she returned to the stateroom. The Smoking Room was deserted, and she could just as easily have set up shop there, but why risk it when the privacy of her stateroom was only a few feet away?

She had already activated her wrist unit before she even reached the door to the cabin. She pushed the door open and immediately aimed her unit-adorned wrist at the wall beside the sink, the same large, relatively flat and unbroken surface she'd used earlier. The little watch-like device beeped tirelessly as it worked to establish a link.

"Come on, come on," Brynne urged under her breath. The link began to form on the wall, but it was taking an uncomfortably long time to do so. The same cracks of light she'd seen that morning on poop deck formed, and this time, they opened, releasing more of the familiar link light, little by little. "Come on," she coached. "Link, damnit. Link!" She removed the unit from her wrist. Holding it in her fingers, she pointed it directly at the wall.

Finally, the elements began to cooperate, and the link seemed fully formed, though it cycled through multiple glowing colors. That didn't matter to Brynne – she had to go through now; the risk of the link becoming unstable and collapsing was too high. She sprinted toward the light …

… And was immediately hit by a force so powerful that it seemed to crush her. She fought it, determined to make it through to the other end of the link. She fought it until she couldn't fight anymore, until she was sure she felt her ears explode and her head cave in on itself.

---

Andrews emerged onto the boat deck just before 1:00 a.m. The ship wouldn't be afloat much longer, and the masses of people still onboard knew that. Passengers scrambled toward the elevated stern of the ship. The ship was now at a severe list, at such an angle that the propellers were nearly out of the water. The two rescue ships had launched their lifeboats, and there were dozens of them in the water. Some daring passengers were leaping from the sides of the ship, taking their chances that a lifeboat would come by and scoop them up, which many boats were. Some boats rowed toward the sunken bow of the Titanic after they realized that many passengers were leaving the ship from that point and swimming for the empty boats.

The situation was critical, and Andrews couldn't see his wife anywhere. He wanted to leave and go search for her, but at the same time, he didn't want to miss her if she showed up on the boat deck. She'd said she needed to return to their stateroom and that she would meet him on the boat deck, port side. It was only supposed to take a few minutes.

Now, 15 minutes had passed since Andrews had last seen her, and he was concern was beginning to grow into worry. He started to make his way quickly through the crowd toward the Aft Grand Staircase foyer. He sprinted inside, down the staircase to A-deck. It only took him seconds to reach their stateroom from the staircase landing. The door was closed but not locked, and he burst in. His heart caught in his throat.

Brynne, unconscious, lay sprawled on the floor a few feet in front of him. "Brynne?" he called, immediately dropping to her side. "Brynne?" He picked up her hand and shook her gently, trying to rouse her. She was still breathing, and he was grateful for that. She seemed only to be out cold. Something – or someone – had knocked her out, he surmised. He didn't have time to investigate at the moment, as the ship had very little time before she would sink. He scooped her up into his arms and abandoned the room. As quickly as he could, carrying 120 extra pounds, he made his way back up the Aft Grand Staircase to the boat deck.

A crowd had gathered around Collapsible D, which had been swung out and prepared for launch. Andrews pushed his way through the crowd, still carrying Brynne.

"I have an injured woman here!" Andrews shouted above the noise of panicking crowd.

Lightoller, in charge of loading the boat, scanned the crowd, trying to discern where the injured party was, but he could see nothing, yet. "Make way, make way!" he ordered. The crowd parted slightly, and Andrews had a slightly easier time pushing through to the boat.

"Mr. Andrews," Lightoller said. His eyes fell to Brynne, and no explanation was necessary. He immediately granted them access to the boat. Both of them.

Andrews didn't want to leave the ship with all those people still onboard, but he found himself unable to abandon Brynne. He remembered his proclamation to her during breakfast Thursday that he would not allow his work to take priority over her. That vow was especially relevant tonight, when she was especially vulnerable, and her life was in danger. He carefully, slowly, climbed into the boat with Brynne.

Andrews and and a still unconscious Brynne were the last into the boat. As soon as they were safely aboard, the boat began to descend toward the water. Andrews sat with Brynne on his lap, his arms wrapped around her. Someone handed him a blanket, which he wrapped around her limp body.


	24. Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Chapter 24 – Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Payton, expectantly staring at the blank wall in his office, swallowed nervously and shook his head. "This isn't right," he said. "Something's gone wrong. It's been over an hour. She should've come through by now." He looked at Bell. With the exception of Jeremy, everyone in the room knew that it should only take a few minutes for an agent to return from a mission.

"What do you think happened?" Jeremy asked.

"Most likely, she couldn't establish the link on her end," Bell answered. "What kept her from doing it is anyone's guess."

"What do you do now?" Jeremy asked eagerly. "How do we get her back?"

"We don't!" It was Packard, who'd just burst into the room with his laptop and a harried expression on his face. All eyes were on him as he walked over to Payton's desk and opened the computer. "I've been tracking the timeline since Brynne left, and I've found something. I think I know how Brynne ended up in the picture with the Gigantic. It isn't a double – it's actually Brynne. We managed to create one wicked paradox. The timeline changed when she went back the first time, as we all know, and created an alternate timeline where the Gigantic sank in place of the Titanic."

"Right, but how does that explain the photo?" Bell asked. "Is it a fake?"

"No, it's real – sort of, " Packard said. "The picture's real – Brynne is not. Not her image anyway. If you look closely, you can see that it's been altered. See the inconsistency around the edges of her image?"

"Someone edited her into the picture," Payton said.

"Makes sense," Bell said. "They probably thought her image would draw publicity for White Star and the Gigantic, but after the Titanic's trip to New York in that timeline, Brynne was nowhere to be found."

"Because she'd come back here," Jeremy said. "It also explains why I wasn't in the picture - I was here."

Packard nodded. "White Star used the photo for a promotional campaign for the Gigantic. For years afterward, the photo became famous because it was connected with the Gigantic, one of the worst passenger maritime disasters in this altered history."

"Shit, that explains our mystery imposter," Payton said.

"It means we sent Brynne on a wild goose chase," Bell said.

Payton knew Bell was right, but it was too much for him to admit aloud. He looked at Packard. "You said we can't bring her back?"

"When Brynne went back this time, something strange happened with the link," Packard explained. "We think that somehow, two parallel universes merged and became our timeline. One of those universes was created with Brynne's first mission. We don't know the origin of this second universe, unfortunately, because of the malfunctions with the link system. We found something interesting in the second universe, however: It turns out that Brynne married Thomas Andrews before the Titanic sailed in this second universe."

"_What?_" Jeremy said. Packard pulled up another window on the computer screen. It was an article about Brynne and Andrews, which Jeremy read voraciously. "How can that be … "

"I have no idea," Packard replied, though Jeremy's question hadn't been directed at anyone in particular. "And as to your question, Payt, as to why we can't retrieve her, it turns out that at least one of her descendants will have – or had, rather – a direct, positive impact on World War II. Brynne, Andrews, and their daughter led the design team responsible for a new class of ship that would prove highly effective against enemy attacks at sea. We ran a few cursory tests – if we pull her out, the new boats don't ever get built. Brynne must've used some modern ideas to help create those boats, information that no one had access to back in the first half of the 20th century. That's the best explanation I can come up with."

Jeremy looked back and forth between Payton, Bell, and Packard. "So, wait a minute – what does this mean?" he asked.

"It means that we can't pull her back," Payton said.

"What? No! You're just going to leave her? You can't do that! There's another way, some other high-tech, futuristic way." Jeremy couldn't understand how they could just abandon a colleague, just cut her lose, so easily.

"She's a vital part of history now," Payton explained. "We can't do it without causing significant damage and loss of human life. And all for little or no reciprocal benefit."

"Little or no benefit? You'd be bringing her home, back to her own time," Jeremy countered. "That's what you told her. You told her you would find her and bring her back. She's expecting you to hold up your end. She's waiting for you to bring her back!"

Jeremy paced in silent frustration for a few moments before abruptly stopping and turning to Packard. "What about the original time line, as you call it? She wasn't there for that. Neither was Mr. Andrews or … their daughter." The words almost stuck in his throat, but he continued. "What happened then? Didn't someone else create these special ships?"

"No," Packard replied. "And according to our preliminary research, these ships ended up having a substantial impact on World War II. Because of them, the war ended _three years_ before it did in what we consider the original timeline."

"I know that you don't know much about World War II or the 20th century," Bell began.

"No, only what Brynne told me yesterday," Jeremy said.

"She told you about the six million Jews who were murdered by Hitler, I'm sure," Packard said. Jeremy nodded, and Packard continued. "Well, because of her contribution – and we're pretty damn sure it was her, not Andrews – most of those people survived the war. Not to mention the countless other people who would have been fatalities of the war, including millions of soldiers and civilians from around the world. _Millions_. I don't like the prospect of leaving someone behind any more than anyone else around here does, but you have to ask yourself how much one life is worth when measured against millions." Packard shook his head. "The math doesn't add up to me."

"You do have to look at the reality of the situation," Payton said. "We're not condemning Brynne to death. She has a fulfilling life, full of significance."

"_Had_," Jeremy corrected. "She's not alive anymore. She can't be, she'd be well over a hundred by now if she were. I don't know much about medical technology of the late 20th century, but I'd be surprised if you told me that people can live to be 130 in your time." He looked to Packard for confirmation.

Packard lowered his eyes to the floor before answering. "She died in 1964, age 83," he reported.

Jeremy nodded and turned to Payton again. "So, that's it, then," Jeremy said. "She's gone, just like that. An hour ago she was standing there, two feet away from me, and now she's dead."

"There's something else," Packard said. "You might as well hear the rest of the bad news all at once. We can't bring her here, and we can't send you back."

"Why not?" Jeremy asked.

"When the timelines merged, we lost track of the original timelines, and we've been unable to locate them. Basically, we don't have anywhere to send you. There's no spot in history for you anymore."

Jeremy swallowed, even though his mouth felt like sandpaper. "So, my mother, my father, my sister – they don't exist anymore?"

Packard sighed. "They do – but you aren't part of their life. You never were, as of the moment your line of origin changed."

Jeremy felt as if he'd been told that his whole family had died. But it was more accurate to say that he'd died – only they didn't know it. He meandered over to a chair and slowly lowered himself into it, feeling like a load of bricks had just been leveled across his shoulders. It was all gone – really. There was no going back for him, and the one person he trusted to help guide him through all this unfamiliarity was dead. She was never coming back.

Bell walked over to him. "I know you're overwhelmed right now. This is scary, unfamiliar territory we've found ourselves in. But we're not going to abandon you or turn you out into the world alone. We're going to help you through this."

The phone on Payton's desk rang. He promptly walked over and answered.

"_There's a visitor here at the front desk, sir,"_ the lobby receptionist reported. _"She's asking specifically for you."_

"I don't have time for visitors, right now." Payton snapped. "We're dealing with a crisis up here."

"_I know," _the receptionist said. "_But she asked specifically for you. She seems very eager. She says she has some letters for you that will clear some things up. I really think you should see her."_

"Alright," Payton said with a sigh. "Get someone to bring her up to my office." He hung up the phone, and his thoughts returned to Brynne. He had lost a few agents before, but losing one _this way, _one little more than a mistake, was definitely a first. If the links hadn't gone down because of that stupid virus, if the time lines hadn't gotten mixed up, Brynne would have gone back to the correct time line, and she'd be back by now. If they'd been more observant, and had figured out the truth about the photo in the pamphlet earlier, she probably wouldn't have gone back at all.

But there was nothing more Payton could do about it, now. Dwelling on it certainly wouldn't change things. He had to set aside the chapter on Brynne and turn to his next big problem: what to do with Jeremy Bratt.

When his office door opened, and the visitor from reception desk was escorted in, Payton immediately knew that Bratt wouldn't be his biggest problem, as he'd thought merely a few moments earlier. His new biggest problem had just stepped into his office.


	25. My Name is Jo

Chapter 25 – My Name is Jo

Payton was speechless, a rarity for him. The woman (or was she a girl?) stepped timidly into the room. She looked exactly like Brynne, though younger. Was this Brynne? Had she found some some way to return, albeit, younger?

She carried a brown box in her lean arms. "I'm looking for Payton Duvall," she announced. Everyone turned and looked at her. Their expressions instantly mirrored Payton's.

Payton stepped forward, brimming with confusion and curiosity. He was now certain that the woman who'd just walked in wasn't Brynne because she had no idea that he was Payton Duvall. It couldn't be Brynne, unless she had amnesia, which was a real possibility. "I'm Payton. Can I help you?"

"My name is Jo Foster," the young woman said. "My great-grandmother was - "

"Brynne," Jeremy said before the girl could finish.

Jo nodded. "That's right." She stepped forward, setting the box on the table. "I never met her, but I know a lot about her." Her eyes landed on Jeremy. "A lot. I know all about you guys, about COSI. It's kind of weird actually meeting you, though. I've been reading about you guys since I first found my great-grandmother's journals. That was two years ago. She wrote about you in past tense, so I'd gotten used to thinking of you that way. Yet, here you are, just as real and modern as me."

"Journals?" Bell asked.

"Yeah," Jo said. She opened the box and began removing notebooks from the stacks inside. "She wrote in them religiously. There must be an entry in them for nearly every day after that whole Titanic incident. She recorded everything. It's all here. These are all her journals. I started reading them for a history assignment, and they were fascinating. A woman working as an architect back during that time, and my great-grandfather encouraging her, even! That kind of stuff was unheard of. When I got to the journals she kept toward the end of her life, though, I found them fascinating for an altogether different reason. The things she wrote about – she started to write about time travel and the future. She even started to talk about it to my mother and my grandmother. They thought she had dementia, supposedly brought on by the death of my great-grandfather in 1960. She gave her diaries to my mother and told her where to take them and when, but it freaked Mom out, and they ended up in my grandmother's basement. We came across them when my grandmother died a few years ago. Then, I started reading them for school, even though my mother warned me that Brynne got kind of loopy towards the end. I didn't care. I think I'm the only person in my whole family who's read all of them."

"You said your grandmother didn't believe Brynne when she started talking about us," Payton said. "Why did you?"

Jo pulled her hands from the box and looked at Payton. "I didn't at first, but that's because all I had to go on were the things my grandmother and my mother told me," Jo replied. "I didn't have the privilege of knowing Brynne personally, but I felt like I finally did get to know her once I started reading her journals. She numbered each volume in chronological order, from 1 to 58. I read them all. After I finished, I came to the conclusion that my Brynne wasn't suffering from dementia or Alzheimer's. She was just as on top of her game as she'd ever been. Her last journal is written in exactly the same logical, detailed manner as her first. The only difference is the topic."

Jo reached into her bag and brought out a small, leather-bound volume, which she handed over to Payton. "A person who was losing her mind or her senses wouldn't be able to write like that. She was just as lucid as you or me when she died."

Payton accepted the book from Jo and carefully thumbed through the pages. Each entry was dated and written in neat cursive script, and each page was numbered.

"Check out the last entry," Jo suggested. "May 5, 1964."

Payton flipped to the back of the book and leafed backwards through the pages until he found the first page of the final entry. He read it silently to himself:

_This volume and the 57 that precede it present the details of my life from the night the Titanic sank up until now. That was the night my life changed forever, as I was, in an instant, cut off from the world I'd known. I lost my old life, but my new life has been far from dreadful or unpleasant, even. I lived a wonderful, rich life; it's just that it had the most unexpected beginning._

_I take great comfort in knowing that the life I lost that cold April night is not lost forever and lies not behind me, but ahead of me; so far ahead, however, that I know, but for some great miracle, I shall not bear witness to it again. I also take great comfort in knowing that my descendants will live to see it and will, thus, be able to complete my first (and unfortunately, last) assignment for COSI._

_Whoever reads this final entry, I'm charging you with the task of seeing that my volumes are delivered into the hands of Mr. Payton Duvall in their entirety. It is absolutely imperative that this not be done before August 11, 2009, for your very existence depends upon adhering to this particular stipulation. You will find him at 1981 Mack Charles Avenue. Take all my journals to him. You'll probably find that he's quite grateful to receive them, as they'll, no doubt, answer many of his questions. He'll know what to do._

Payton looked at Jo, and saw Brynne's eyes staring back at him for a moment. "She died two weeks later," Jo said. "I've always wondered why she picked today. She made it sound so grave. It's not like it would have made any difference … would it?"

Payton closed Brynne's journal. He sighed heavily. "Today is the day your great grandmother traveled back in time. Two hours ago, she was standing on almost the exact spot where you're standing now. Theoretically, if you'd shown up yesterday with this information, it might've disrupted the timeline – again – and I might not have sent Brynne on the mission. That's speculation, though. We really don't know what would have happened, because yesterday, you didn't exist to any of us here." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to make sense of what he'd just said. "Paradoxes – that's why my desk drawer is filled with headache meds and antacids."

---

When Brynne came around, it was to the smell of something vile. Her eyes watered as they fluttered open. She was looking into Andrews's concerned, brown-eyed gaze. She was on her back still, but she didn't recognize the ceiling.

"_She probably has a concussion."_

The words sounded far away to Brynne, like she was trying to listen to him through water.

"_You must keep her awake until daybreak, at least. I'll leave these smelling salts with you – they might come in handy."_

Brynne blinked, and it hurt. "Where are we?" she croaked. Talking hurt, too.

"The Californian," Andrews replied quietly. "You gave us a real scare."

"What happened?"

"I found you unconscious on the stateroom floor. We barely made it to the lifeboat and off the ship in time. She went under about 1:20 a.m. I had Dr. O'Loughlin look at you. He says you probably have a concussion."

It all came back to Brynne now. She'd tried to establish a link. When she thought she had, she'd made a dash for it and had run into a solid wall instead. She absently felt for the wrist unit on her arm … but it was gone. She checked her other wrist – it wasn't there, either.

"Where's my watch?" she asked.

"What watch?" Andrews asked.

"I-I-I was wearing a watch," Brynne stammered. "What happened to it?"

"It must have fallen off somewhere on the Titanic."

Brynne tried to sit up. "I have to find it. I need it."

"It's gone, darling. All of it. There's nothing left of the Titanic except for a few boats." Brynne was trying to sit up and stand, but Andrews gently urged her back down on the small cot. "We'll get you a new one. We'll get new everything, I promise."

Brynne kept feeling her arm, as if the unit would magically appear. But she knew it wouldn't. Her eyes welled with heavy tears. Without that wrist unit, she was stuck.

"Now, there, darling – you must stay calm. We both made it out alive; for that, we must be thankful." Andrews thought Brynne was upset over losing the ship, but she was upset over losing something much larger than the Titanic. Her former life.

Andrews had taken Brynne's hand and enclosed it in his, stroking it gently, trying to sooth her. "We're going to be fine, Brynne. Just fine. It's turned out to be a rough start, but we've nothing to worry about. We're going to be fine together."


	26. The End?

**_Loyal readers,_**

**_I want to thank you for reading my story. This is especially directed at those of you who have been reading since the very first chapter was posted, as well as those of who took the time to leave reviews. Finishing a story is always a time of reflection for me, as it makes me look at where I was when the project began and how life has changed now that I'm coming to the end. It doesn't seem possible that I started posting this story way back in 2006, but then I think about the origins of this project and how long I worked on it before publishing on this site. Prior to its debut on , "Fumbling Toward Ecstasy" was an original screenplay I began working working on about a decade ago and was initially published on 's sister site, . Since then, it has undergone many changes to format and story direction, but underlying themes of the plot have remained. My eternal thanks for giving my story a chance and sticking with it!_**

**_Cordially yours,_**

**_Dani_**

---

Chapter 26 – The End?

"So you're Jeremy Bratt," Jo said. She sat across from Jeremy in the COSI cafeteria.

"That I am," Jeremy said, nodding slowly.

"She had a lot to say about you," Jo said. Brynne Andrews had filled nearly half the space in one of her last journals with writing about this man. She'd described him as handsome, but she hadn't done him justice. The man was _gorgeous_.

Gorgeous and hurting. Jo knew about his entire ordeal. Brynne had written about it. Brynne's experience had mirrored Jeremy's almost exactly. She'd known what he felt because she'd felt it, too. They'd fallen in love with each other, only to be separated and forced to live out the remainder of their lives in worlds that were not their own.

"She was in love with you," Jo resumed. She watched Jeremy's face for reaction.

After a short silence, he said, "I know."

"If things hadn't ended up like they did – with the links and everything - "

"You wouldn't be here," Jeremy interrupted. "I know you think I'm upset because of how things have ended up. And you're right, I am. But you don't have to say things to try to make me feel better about it. I'll be okay."

"Sorry." Jo sat back in her chair. "You just look so sad."

"I am," Jeremy said. "But I'll get over it."

"My great-grandmother didn't. Never completely. And she lived to be 83." She let Jeremy absorb that for a few moments before moving on. "What are you going to do next?"

"I'm staying here at COSI for a while," Jeremy said. "The people here don't think it's wise to turn me loose on the streets of the 21st century just yet. I'm inclined to agree."

"Are you gonna become an agent?"

"_Me _becomean agent?" Jeremy started to dismiss the idea outright, but paused to give it some thought before he opened his mouth again. "I don't know. I guess I never had the chance to consider it until now. I can't see it as a realistic scenario, though. Why would they make me and agent? I don't know anything about the future, much less the time travel."

"But you know a lot about the past, or certain parts of it, anyway. And from what I can tell, the past is these people's primary business."

Jeremy gave a slight nod. "Good point. What about you? Now that you've found that this place really does exist, and that your great-grandmother really was a spy, are you going to follow in her footsteps and become one too?"

"There's no chance in hell of that happening," Jo said. "I finished my history project, Mr. Bratt. One of the biggest lessons I learned was that history should be studied, and that's all. It shouldn't be meddled or tinkered with. There are too many variables."

Jeremy nodded again and said, "But someone has to ensure that no one else once again does any meddling or tinkering."


End file.
